


Sanctification

by Dark and Stormy (betagyre)



Series: Sanctification [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Bisexual Character, Character of Faith, Comfort Sex, Crisis of Faith, F/F, Female-Centric, Feminist Themes, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Mabari, Rangers (Dragon Age), Regret, Romance, Secrets, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:54:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 158,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23740402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betagyre/pseuds/Dark%20and%20Stormy
Summary: Elissa Cousland never expected to be a Grey Warden, but she doesn’t mind it. She can fight evil, develop her gift from her mother’s bloodline to call upon wolves, and pursue real love rather than fulfilling some grim noble duty.  She has never been attracted to men, so that freedom matters to her.  She just wishes her conscription had not corresponded with the loss of her whole family, or so she fears, as well as her lover.When she meets the bard-turned-sister, Leliana, she is sure that this will be special.  Leliana has a sad past too, a betrayal by her former mentor Marjolaine, but Elissa soon comes to suspect that there is more grief and regret than that in her past, and that it is much more recent and muchlessmorally straightforward.  The rupture with Marjolaine happened years ago, but Leliana was acutely unhappy when she departed Lothering....(A story that occurs in the same world as my “Spells of Healing and Power” series. Can be read as a standalone; no prior reading of other stories needed.)
Relationships: Female Cousland/Leliana (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age), brief Female Cousland (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), brief Female Cousland/Iona (Dragon Age), brief Female Hawke/Leliana, past Leliana/Marjolaine (Dragon Age)
Series: Sanctification [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608427
Comments: 67
Kudos: 47





	1. Alpha Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, and thanks for reading!
> 
> To new readers: This story occurs in a canon-divergent AU, the same AU of my series “Spells of Healing and Power.” Occasionally, the events of that series involve the main characters of this story, and I’ll be (re-)writing those events from their perspectives now when that happens—so prior knowledge of the AU is not required to understand this story. The stories in “Spells of Healing and Power” are principally F/M (and E-rated partly for sex), very focused on one specific subject (mages), and are extremely sympathetic to a controversial character, Anders. That series is also over 500,000 words long, quite an investment of time. Because of all this, I realize that not all readers of this fic will be interested in reading that series, so you don’t have to! Everything AU that you need to know to understand this story will be narrated _in this story._
> 
> To existing readers of the AU: Thank you so much for giving this story a look! I’m afraid that there will be some repetition of certain scenes that involve Caitlyn and Leliana or Anders and Elissa. I’m sorry for that, but it’s unavoidable to make sure that this story can stand on its own without requiring anyone to read the other ones first. When I do retell a scene that you’ve already read, I intend to do it from the other character’s perspective, so at least you’ll get a new point of view!
> 
> Now, despite that note about existing fics... this story is about Leliana and Elissa. It’s not about Leliana pining for a past relationship while she is with Elissa. She has angst about Hawke because events following their breakup are upsetting to her, and she feels guilty (not about breaking up—about other things), but this guilt is not the only issue for her, and there are character arcs for Elissa too. The Hawke back story is just one part of this story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prologue-type chapter here. There will be time jumps until the _DA:O_ era, don't worry. I'm not going to write 10 years out!

_Dragon 9:20, the Storm Coast off Highever._

The sun was bright, the leaves were green, the wind was blowing in clouds from offshore—never a surprise on the aptly named Storm Coast, for even sunny days such as this one did not often last—and the Cousland daughter and her companions were socializing before the spread picnic in the woods.

Elissa Cousland, age twelve, sat happily next to her best friend, Alfstanna Eremon, daughter of the Bann of the Waking Sea Bannorn. Her father was a vassal of the Teyrn of Highever, and the Waking Sea Bannorn marched with Highever—so in addition to being close friends, they got to see each other frequently. For social occasions such as this one that required the presence of many Fereldan nobles, the companionship of her best friend was critical, for so few Fereldan noble girls enjoyed sparring and hunting like Elissa—but Alfstanna did. Both girls wore leather breeches, riding boots, and tunics made of Highever weave rather than the noblewomen’s gowns that the other girls, Anora Mac Tir and Habren Bryland, wore.

Elissa was glad of it when Habren had jumped up, shrieking about ants up her petticoat. In truth, she was also smugly pleased that the ants  _had_ targeted Habren, who she felt deserved it, rather than Anora—but it was still better to wear what was essentially armor.

Elissa and Alfstanna had had to stifle snickers when Habren had leaped around the tablecloth, panicking as the little insects crawled up her legs, all her supposed dignity gone. Elissa was not certain of it, but she thought she had even caught a ghost of a smirk on Anora’s face too.  _Nobody likes Habren,_ she thought,  _and who can blame us for it?_ Elissa reflected on the conversation that occurred just prior to the ants’ invasion.

“My father is going to let Irminric and me try to imprint on mabari puppies,” Alfstanna had announced proudly. Elissa had looked at her with envy; she wanted a mabari of her own and felt that she had to be old enough. Anora had also smiled politely.

Habren, however, turned up her nose and sniffed. “I would not want one,” she spat petulantly. “They hate me. Perhaps you will have better luck, though. Your father is just a bann. I suppose they dislike me because I am a _lady_ and they are so filthy.”

In that moment, Habren’s insult to Alfstanna went almost unnoticed. Calling mabari hounds filthy was simply not done in Ferelden, least of all among the nobility. Mabari were an important part of their country’s heritage. The other girls stared at her as if she had blasphemed the name of Andraste.

Then they recovered themselves. “My lord father is a teyrn and he had a mabari,” Anora began to say hotly, her usually perfect composure shattered.

“Yes, but everyone knows about _your_ father’s background,” Habren began.

“My parents had mabari too,” Elissa said at once. She clenched her fists, wishing she could send one straight into the snooty girl’s nose. “You cannot say a word against the background of the Teyrn of Highever.”

Habren had glowered back at Elissa, silenced—and then the ants had struck. Elissa had regarded it as justice, perhaps the justice of the land itself.  _Fereldan land, not tolerating any insults to itself,_ she had thought, enjoying the sight and munching on an apple as Habren danced around the picnic site.

Alfstanna looked at her best friend with a grin. “You are enjoying this.”

Elissa shrugged innocently and tossed her apple core away. “I? Enjoying the misfortune of one of our friends and companions?”

“Companions, yes,” Alfstanna agreed. “Friends? I think not.”

Habren finally burst into a sob. “They’re in my  _pantaloons!_ I can’t... I have to go inside and change.” She dashed away towards Castle Highever.

Anora Mac Tir was the oldest girl present, being three years older than Elissa, and she was betrothed to Prince Cailan. Elissa had been greatly relieved the day that the couriers had brought word of Lady Anora’s betrothal, because it meant that  _she_ would not have to marry the prince—and she knew that the idea was disgusting to her. But being the eldest and the future Queen of Ferelden, Anora tended to take on an authoritative persona sometimes, and this was one of those times. She gazed at her friends disapprovingly. “I do not like her either, but this was unkind,” she began to say.

“I didn’t do anything,” Elissa objected. “I didn’t put the ants there.”

“I know. I meant laughing at her.”

Elissa and Alfstanna exchanged a dark, secret glance. “She deserved it,” Elissa burst out. “That and much more. Do you know why she has not imprinted on a mabari?”

Anora hesitated. “No, but it is not unusual. Many do not. My lord father only had one in his life. It requires the right dog for a person. Even being kind to one will not guarantee an imprint.”

“I know, and that isn’t what I mean. Habren... she kills _puppies.”_

Anora looked deeply disturbed at this. “That is a very serious thing to say.”

“And it’s _true,”_ Elissa insisted. “I heard my parents talking about it when the Brylands arrived. Arl Leonas was complaining about how he had purchased a mabari puppy from a breeder for Habren and it ‘disappeared.’ After he left, my parents talked about what they had heard she did. She _tortures_ them, and when they turn against her, she throws them in rivers or chokes them to death.” Elissa was becoming exercised, feeling the heat of anger suffuse her at the thought of it. “Arl Leonas doesn’t know—or he doesn’t choose to _see._ But my parents know. She’s horrible, Anora. She’s a dog-killer.”

The daughter of the Teyrn of Gwaren looked down, discomfited. “If that is true, then you are right—she is. But... did it sound as though your parents had actually seen her doing this?”

Elissa considered before reluctantly shaking her head. “They spoke of it as a rumor. But I believe it.”

“So do I,” Alfstanna chimed in, supporting her best friend. She linked arms with Elissa.

In spite of the horrid subject matter of their conversation, Elissa felt a strange warmth suffuse her as their arms touched.

“It is honorable of you to believe your parents,” Anora finally said, that same queenly, authoritative—yet somehow cold—tone filling her words again. “Right and proper. But... if they haven’t _seen_ Habren hurting dogs....”

Elissa scowled, seeing how this was going to turn out. “Then I’m glad that the ants bit her,” she said spitefully, “and perhaps people will have proof when a  _mabari_ fights back and takes a chunk out of her.”

Alfstanna looked at her friend in shock but admiration. Anora was just shocked. “If that happens,” she said when she had recovered, “the poor dog will just be put down, you know.”

Elissa saw the truth in Anora’s words, but she did not want to accept it or think about that. She loved dogs and their kin. She had always observed in awe and hope whenever a mabari in the Cousland kennels whelped, hopeful that one of the puppies would become her own. It had not yet happened. She also had seen the forest wolves of the Storm Coast and felt joy at the sight of them. Whenever Fergus took her into the woods—or she sneaked away herself with a bow and quiver—and she caught sight of a wolf pack, she admired from a distance, not feeling any fear of them, just awe and a strange, probably imagined pull to them. Once she had managed to get close enough to look into the eyes of a wolf mother that stood fifteen feet away, guarding her pups. Ordinarily a wolf would regard the intruder as a mortal threat to her young and would growl and perhaps even attack, but as Elissa had gazed at the wolf, she had felt, somehow, that she could tell the wolf in her thoughts that she meant no harm to her or her pups—and at last, the mother had shuffled her litter away from Elissa, with neither human nor wolf blood spilled.

“If she tries that,” Elissa finally replied, bringing her thoughts back to the present, “if I ever see her hurting a dog that fights back and she tries to have it killed... well, I’ll make sure it gets free.”

Alfstanna nodded in approval, reaching for her friend’s hand. As their warm hands slid into each other, Elissa felt that curious, unfamiliar warmth fill her again.

* * *

The clouds that the wind had blown in the previous day had indeed heralded a storm, which came to no surprise to any of the Coastlands families. Rain and wind battered Highever Castle overnight, and lightning and thunder rocked the ramparts with exciting flashes and crashes.

With the number of nobles present, Alfstanna could not have had her own guest bedroom. Only the daughter of the Teyrn of Gwaren and future Queen-Consort had that honor. But rather than being bunked with the other daughters of arls and banns, which would have included the detestable Habren Bryland, Alfstanna had chosen to share her best friend’s room. The two girls huddled together on the floor around a dwarven-made runed lamp as the storm buffeted the castle, a window seat looming before them.

Elissa was excited, because of the storm and because she had done something extremely forbidden that she was about to reveal to her friend. “Guess what?” she said in a hushed whisper.

Alfstanna looked up at her, grinning, aware that her friend had done something naughty and eager to be let in on the secret.

Elissa smirked back as she drew two bottles out from under the cushion of the window seat. “I got these out of the cellar tonight.”

Alfstanna covered her mouth to mute the shocked squeal that nearly burst from her. “Elissa!” she exclaimed at last in a whisper.

Elissa took out a knife and popped the ale bottles open. They were brewed from a Bannorn harvest, famously good, and she passed one to her friend with that grin still on her face. “Fergus can have wine at the table and he’s only a few years older than we are. Why can’t we have ale? It isn’t as strong.” She took a sip from the bottle and suddenly grimaced; she had not expected that bitter taste. It was very much unlike the teas and fruity cordials that she had. However, as she forced the brown liquid down, she found herself liking it. It was different... and it would take getting used to... but she could see why adults thought Bannorn ale good, after all.

Alfstanna had been gazing at Elissa in awe at her daring before finally taking a sip from her own bottle. She winced too but forced the ale down. “Wow,” she said. “That’s different.”

“That’s exactly what I thought,” Elissa said, pleased that her best friend thought the same. “Good, though.”

“I hope it doesn’t make us _drunk._ That would be disgraceful.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone getting drunk off one bottle or one goblet of anything. I don’t think we have a thing to worry about.”

“Well, we’re still young... but I will stop if I start to feel funny. You should too.”

Although Elissa was still intoxicated—not from the ale, but from the act of rebellion—she saw her friend’s point and resolved privately to not make a fool of herself. As exciting as this was, she did know that it would shame her parents and reflect badly on her if she became drunk at age twelve at an event where so many high nobles of Ferelden were present, and she did not want to do that.  _I want to test the limit but not disgrace myself,_ she thought.  _I am my own person, a different sort of girl from the usual, independent, but I love my family and I understand who and what I am too. I can do this and be careful about it, so that’s what I’ll do._

As she and Alfstanna sipped their ale carefully, she nevertheless did start to feel herself becoming more playful and open. With about a third of the foamy drink left, she finally gave in. Turning to her friend with a wicked gleam in her eye, she said, boldly, “Truth or dare.”

Alfstanna set down her bottle. “Oh, no. No. No.”

“Yes,” Elissa insisted.

“It will embarrass me.”

“You can challenge me too, you know. And we’re _friends._ Best friends. What could you say to _me_ that would be embarrassing?”

Alfstanna didn’t want to respond. Her cheeks blushed faintly at some unspoken secret. Elissa felt her heart leap suddenly, for what reason she could not say—or did not understand herself, or could not vocalize at the age of twelve.

But then Alfstanna got command of herself and fixed her friend with a firm gaze. “Truth or dare, Elissa.”

“Dare,” Elissa said at once, not even hesitating.

Alfstanna smirked. She paused for a moment, making her friend wait, before speaking again. “I  _dare_ you to whistle to a great forest wolf, a direwolf, the next time we are in the woods and you see one. Especially if Lady Habren the Dog-Killing Hag is there.”

“That’s _it?”_ Elissa laughed, sipping her ale. “I can’t wait to do that!” She smirked back at her friend. “Truth or dare.”

Alfstanna considered for a moment before saying, “Truth.”

Elissa smirked; she had hoped that Alfstanna would say that. Fingering the mouth of her bottle, she took her time before speaking again. “Is it true that you have a secret someone that you like and that’s why you were blushing just now?” she asked, surprised at her own boldness.

Alfstanna drew back, shocked, her cheeks reddening again—but the rules of the game were what they were, and she had no choice. “Yes,” she confessed in a low voice.

Elissa’s heart leaped at this, though again, she could not quite admit the reason why. She waited for the other shoe to drop, and when Alfstanna remained resolutely silent, she finally burst out, “Well, are you going to tell me?”

Alfstanna took a sip of her ale and gazed back, some of her confidence restored. “You already asked me one truth. You don’t get two.”

“Hmph.” That was true, Elissa had to admit. She wanted to know, to have the confirmation of what she hoped, but she had to be fair and follow the rules of the game. She sipped her own ale. “Your turn, then.”

“Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” Elissa said again. “And do give me a better one this time.”

Alfstanna considered for a moment. “I dare you to tell Tommy Howe or Vaughan Kendells to go the Void— _in front of his father.”_

Elissa’s blue-grey eyes widened; Alfstanna  _had_ shocked her this time. Tommy Howe was a petulant little monster who was entirely too full of himself now that his father, the mercurial and rather frightening Arl of Amaranthine, had sent his elder brother Nathaniel to the Free Marches to squire, declaring Tommy—the youngest child—the Howe family heir, above his elder brother  _and_ sister. Although he was no older than Elissa herself, he swaggered around with a sword on his belt that he named “Bear’s Tooth” after the animal that was the sigil of the Howe family, declaring to all and sundry that  _he_ was the heir to Amaranthine and that people would have to obey his will in due time. It was disgusting to her. Fergus was the presumptive heir of Highever—a fact that she sometimes didn’t like to think about, for what it implied for her own future and her need to make her way in the world by some other method—but he never behaved that way. And Vaughan Kendells was simply repulsive to her. Elissa could not put her finger on exactly  _how,_ but something about him made her skin crawl and enraged her at the same time. She had heard him speak of women in an absolutely appalling way, using  _the c-word,_ so profane that she didn’t even want to think the word out in her own thoughts. She had thought of  _the f-word_ before, but that one was too much—or perhaps it was too awful for her as a girl herself, at least the way that Vaughan used it. She also didn’t like the way he looked at the female Highever servants, particularly the elven ones. It angered her even more when the maids themselves became uncomfortable under his predatory gaze and scurried off to avoid him. But his father, the Arl of Denerim, turned a blind eye to anything his son did. To tell either of the boys to go to the Void  _in front of their father_ was a dare indeed.

And yet, it appealed to her. Because if they belonged anywhere, it  _was_ the Void, Elissa thought mutinously. She turned to Alfstanna and said, “I will.”

Alfstanna suppressed her own grin as Elissa took her turn. “Truth or dare.”

Alfstanna considered for a moment, reflecting on how the previous round with Elissa had gone and what her friend would likely demand of her if she said “truth”—the identity of her secret crush. She couldn’t tell Elissa that. She just couldn’t. It would be simply too awful. “Dare,” she finally said.

Elissa looked disappointed for a moment, but as she finished off her bottle of ale and set it aside, she resolved to make the best of the situation. “All right,” she said. “I dare you to go to the person who is special to you that you told me about and kiss them on the cheek.” With a full bottle of ale in her twelve-year-old body, and the headiness of the demand itself, she was feeling very excited and thrilled with herself.  _Alfstanna means me,_ she thought giddily.  _She means me, and now she’ll have to show me._ It intoxicated her, though  _why_ that was, she could not say. She had never felt this giddy and excited about anyone before. She didn’t even know what she  _was_ feeling, just that she wanted to explore it.

But Alfstanna looked horrified. She set down her bottle and turned to her friend, her face ghastly pale. “You can’t,” she begged her. “You can’t ask that of me. It’s not fair, Elissa. It’s... not ladylike. It’s improper. Please don’t make me.”

Elissa gazed back at her as her words sank in. She had been looking forward to a kiss on the cheek from Alfstanna... but if her friend did not want to yet, if she wasn’t comfortable with it—and, Elissa had to acknowledge, she herself barely understood this feeling, so Alfstanna indeed might not be comfortable with it—then it was wrong of her to ask it.

_We agreed to the rules of Truth or Dare,_ she thought—but another thought then intruded.  _And what if the rules are wrong? What if they aren’t meant for situations like this? It’s not right for me to use them for this purpose if so._ Unhappily, but resignedly, she turned to her friend. “All right,” she said. “I understand.” Relief filled Alfstanna’s face as Elissa continued with her new dare. “I dare you to use the  _f-word_ against Tommy Howe or Vaughan Kendells when I do tell whichever of them to go to the Void.”

Alfstanna’s eyes grew wide, but she assented, barely believing it herself. “I will,” she said, awed at her own promise.

The girls’ forbidden night of ale and dares did not leave Elissa’s bedroom. After the single bottle apiece, they agreed that that was all—and Elissa did not have any more anyway. Perhaps Alfstanna was also too discomfited by the nature of Elissa’s retracted dare—as well as her replacement one, Elissa thought, as the two girls piled into bed together under the crashing thunder and battering rain. As her friend dozed off, she realized that she kind of wanted to cuddle her... but if Alfstanna was uncomfortable giving her the cheek kiss that she had asked for, then she wasn’t going to force a cuddle on her either.

_What am I doing?_ Elissa thought before she had gone to sleep.  _What does this mean? I’ve been friends with Alfstanna for two years and have never felt this way about her before. Why is it different now? Is this normal? I thought girls were supposed to want to kiss boys when they reached a certain age... but not me. I don’t like boys. I don’t want to kiss them... but maybe I want to kiss girls. Is that normal? Is there something wrong with me? Or will I want to kiss boys later on, like other girls?_

The thunderous night offered no answers to her, nor did her prayers to Andraste and the Maker. She had never heard the priest at the Chantry of Highever saying it was  _wrong_ for a girl to like girls, but then, the priest had never talked about the subject at all. Elissa didn’t know what to think.  _Alfstanna didn’t want to kiss me,_ she thought as she tried to go to sleep.  _She didn’t want to do that dare. She would rather say the f-word than kiss me. I hope in time that she will come around. It can’t be that strange if my very best friend wants to do it too, can it?_

* * *

_The following day._

Elissa made a point of getting rid of the empty ale bottles so that the servants would not see the evidence. Alfstanna looked relieved as she and Elissa got dressed—wearing leathers again, as they had the day before. It was as if she wanted all tangible, physical evidence of the night before gone.

The nobles had gathered at Highever to discuss the recent ascendancy of the sixteen-year-old Lady Celene Valmont to the throne of Orlais, and specifically what it might mean for Ferelden. Emperor Florian had been the enemy of Ferelden during the Rebellion, of which many of the current nobles were veterans, and the more optimistic—such as Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe—hoped that Celene would herald a new era of cooperation between the two nations. Others, such as Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, were less sanguine. Elissa’s parents, the Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever, were skeptical of the new Empress of Orlais but nonetheless open-minded. A sixteen-year-old would hardly be set in stone as a ruthless tyrant, after all, even if she  _did_ have to be very proficient at the Great Game of Orlais to manage to ascend to the imperial throne at such a tender age. Despite her methods of achieving her ambition, perhaps she really did just want the best for her country, rather than to involve it in needless wars with a neighbor that manifestly wanted to be free and independent and was willing to pay the price in blood to have that. They were hopeful, and so Elissa was hopeful.

But she was also just twelve. Celene Valmont might be Empress of Orlais at sixteen, and for all Elissa knew, she might be leading an army at sixteen herself—but she was not sixteen  _now._ Today, she just wanted to get away from the castle with Alfstanna and go into the woods. She had not forgotten the first dare, the dare involving wolves, and it excited her to try to fulfill it.

She carried her bow and quiver of arrows on her back, just to be safe, as she tramped through the soggy earth, inhaling the scent of wet leaves and dirt after the storm, Alfstanna tagging along behind in her own leathers. Opportunity seemed to fill the air itself. As Elissa stepped between the trees, she felt the thrill of excitement at... something. It was a sort of preternatural awareness that this would be an important day, she realized as she passed through a small grotto of stone. Perhaps she really  _would_ see a great forest wolf, or a direwolf, as some called the oversize canines. They were rare, far more uncommon than the ordinary wolves of the forest, and said to be more common in the Frostback Mountains than the “lowlands” of Ferelden, but they were not extinct. Elissa thought she had seen one before, as a child. She was not positive—to a little girl of eight, any wolf would seem large—but this one might have been.

Elissa didn’t know what to make of her strange compulsion to be near dogs and wolves. She had heard a folk legend about Andraste, that the Prophet and Bride of the Maker had had a loyal mabari that was bound to her by seemingly supernatural means, but the priests of the Chantry had insisted that this story was false and that the only  _true_ accounts of Andraste were those found in the Chant of Light, and any other claims about the Prophet were heresy, even one as harmless as the claim that she had had a Fereldan mabari imprinted on her. Elissa had wanted to be faithful and not doubt priests... she did not want to be a heretic and go to the Void when she died... but she had heard her father and mother muttering about Orlesian influence in Andrastian doctrine, political pressure during the Rebellion, and she knew that the mabari was specifically a Fereldan national icon... and then when she kept feeling a pull to wolves and dogs  _herself...._

“Well, what have we here?”

Elissa turned around sharply, followed by Alfstanna. Scowls covered their faces at the sight of Tommy Howe, his face breaking into an obnoxious smirk, his stupid sword Bear’s Tooth— _he doesn’t even know what to do with it,_ Elissa thought in derision—sheathed at his belt.

“Lord Thomas,” Alfstanna said coldly.

“Have you been following us?” Elissa demanded.

Tommy shook his head. “Why, no. It’s merely not that difficult to find other people in these woods. They are not nearly as thick and dense as the ones outside of Amaranthine. How can your parents’ people hunt  _here,_ Elissa, when any beast could see and hear people coming from a mile away?”

Elissa glowered at him. “Perhaps you should ask them that, if you have the nerve to question the Teyrn of Highever and the Seawolf of the Waking Sea—which I’m guessing you don’t. Our larders never seem to lack for meat, though. Apparently our hunters are better at sighting beasts than you are, Tommy Howe—or maybe they’re just careful and  _quiet_ enough that they don’t run everything off. Did you consider  _that?”_

Tommy glowered at her. “My lord father said that you were—not ladylike,” he snarled. “I see that he was right.”

“I don’t care what your lord father thinks of me. Apparently he doesn’t know what it means to be a gentleman either, if he thinks you are one.”

Tommy looked furious for a moment before hissing back, “My lord father said that he thought your parents were too accepting of this new Orlesian bitch. Not as bad as the Arl of Redcliffe, but—”

“You watch your mouth,” Elissa said. In a fraction of a second, her bowstring was drawn and an arrow was nocked, pointed not at Tommy Howe’s head—she was not quite bold enough to directly threaten the life of the heir of Amaranthine—but at his crotch.

Tommy yelped at the sight and tried to back away. “I didn’t do anything to you! How dare you—I’ll tell my lord father—”

“If you do, I’ll tell _my_ parents what you said about them, and what you say your father said,” Elissa retorted. “Would he like that?”

Tommy whimpered as he mumbled a negative. Scowling but satisfied, Elissa withdrew her weapons.

The stark howl of a wolf interrupted the fight, piercing the forest with a sound that sent chills down Elissa’s back.

Elissa exchanged a quick glance with Alfstanna, remembering her promise in response to her friend’s dare the night before. “Let’s find it!” she exclaimed.

Alfstanna was excited too, and as Elissa began to run in the direction of the howl, she quickly followed. Tommy Howe whined again. “I don’t  _want_ to,” he complained, though he stamped after them, his boots sticking in mud puddles, making enough noise to scare off anything nearby, just as Elissa had said. And yet he followed them.

* * *

The three of them, the girls in front and Howe behind, followed the sound of the howl until the wolf stopped calling. Elissa stopped in the woods, frowning, as the sound subsided.  _I don’t want to give up now,_ she thought in disappointment, pausing and waiting for the animal to start its call again.  _I want to see it. I want to whistle to it...._

“I want to go back,” Tommy complained as he caught up, panting and out of breath.

“Shut up,” Elissa said. The boy looked affronted for a moment until Alfstanna glowered at him, fondling the knife at her belt. Elissa closed her eyes.

She could not have explained why she did it, or what she hoped it would accomplish. It was an instinctual act, one that she took without expecting a particular outcome, at least consciously. And yet, when she sealed away all visual input from the real world and tried to focus her mind on something more, something  _beyond,_ it was then that she felt the presence of the wolf again.

“That way,” she said, opening her eyes. “East.” She pointed.

“How can you—” Alfstanna began, but she broke off as her friend began to jog toward the east. Shrugging, she followed, as did Tommy, despite his earlier complaints.

They darted through the woods, Elissa and Alfstanna trying to be light-footed and not make much noise, Tommy unconcerned with it. Elissa continued to follow this indescribable sense of hers that told her that the wolf— _wolves,_ she suddenly thought at one point,  _because there are more than one—_ were in this specific direction. Alfstanna did not know what to make of it, but she did not question her friend’s intuition. Tommy Howe did seem to have a problem with it, but that did not stop him from following the girls, even though they had not invited him.

At last Elissa halted. A grove loomed before her, a thicket of thorns and bushes blocking a shadowed area. “That’s the wolf’s den,” she said in a low voice. “And it’s a _big_ one. I think it is a great wolf.”

“How do you know?” Alfstanna finally said, panting as she caught up.

“I just know.” Elissa could not explain it herself, but she knew it to be true. She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled.

Tommy Howe finally caught up, glowering and panting heavily, resentful of his own decision to follow them, but clearly not taking any responsibility for it. “I can’t believe that we—” he began to say.

_“Shut up!”_

The speaker was Alfstanna. Tommy looked to object, but he closed his mouth as a wolf, large and grey, emerged from the thicket, followed by three half-grown pups.

Elissa stared at the animal, wolf eyes meeting human ones. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured as the wolf, much larger than a normal one, drew near. “So beautiful....”

She had almost touched the wolf’s snout when Tommy shouted. “That’s not right! It’s not normal! It’s  _unnatural!”_ He drew his sword, Bear’s Tooth, and hurled it ignorantly at the great wolf.

Elissa did not even take the time to think of the fact that he knew no more of swordplay than that they were not meant to be thrown. She was concerned for the wolf and its pups as the sharp blade flew through the air—but she need not have worried. The mother wolf instantly backed away, easily avoiding the point, and the pups were never in any danger. She only growled at the stupid young lordling as she hurried her young back into her den.

But Tommy Howe continued to throw his tantrum as he retrieved his blade. “You’re an abnormality!” he bawled, pointing at Elissa. “You shouldn’t have been able to sense that—that beast! It isn’t right!”

Elissa’s heart was pounding, but she kept her confidence and her cool as she faced him down. “Is that so? I just followed my senses! It’s not my fault that you aren’t any good at tracking animals!”

“It wasn’t tracking! That—that wasn’t normal!” He sheathed the sword and pointed malevolently at her. “It’s _magic,_ that’s what it is! You’re a _mage!”_

“I am not!” Elissa had been taken to the Highever Healer many a time for various wounds she had incurred on her hunts, so she did not fear healing magic, but she knew what it meant to be a mage and it wasn’t something she ever wanted. Her heart thumped. It _wasn’t_ magic, what she had done... was it? She had insisted to Tommy that it was just tracking, that she had just followed her senses... and that was true, in a way... but what sense, exactly, had she used? She could not say. She had not heard or seen the wolf after its howls had ceased; she had followed her instinct... of sorts. She could not explain what had happened, why she had felt the connection with this great wolf that had led her to its den and then helped her to assure the wolf—as she had done four years ago with a different one—that she meant no threat to its offspring. This was not just something that had happened now. It had been something she was aware of for years, she realized—aware of and unable to explain. What if—what if Tommy was right?

“You are,” he insisted, drawing away. “You’re a _mage._ And that means you’ll be sent to the Tower and shut up, away from everybody else, to keep _normal_ people safe!” He ran away, crashing through the path that they had trod in their hunt for the wolf.

Elissa did not hesitate; she followed after him, determined to get to her parents to tell them the truth of what had happened before the Howe boy could spread some sort of fearful exaggeration or lie. Alfstanna ran after her.

“I know you’re not,” she assured Elissa. “It’s all right.”

_But what did I do, then, if I’m not?_ Elissa thought.

* * *

“She’s a _mage!”_ Tommy Howe exclaimed as the three young people reached a small group of nobles gathered on the grounds of Highever. Elissa groaned as she noticed her parents and the Howes standing together, talking.

Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, regarded Elissa coldly before turning to his son. “I highly doubt that,” he declared. “Don’t be a fool, boy.”

“I’m not!” Elissa insisted as she reached them.

Tommy pointed at her accusingly. “We heard a wolf howl in the woods and she just—tracked it, even after it stopped calling! We couldn’t see or hear it! She wasn’t looking at the ground for tracks or shit or—”

“Mind your tongue,” Arl Howe said sharply. “You are a noble.”

In spite of everything, a rebellious thought passed through Elissa’s mind.  _Oh, it is going to be_ good  _when Alfstanna says the f-word if she has to say it in front of him,_ she thought gleefully. Then she remembered the rest of the dare. She just had to say it after Elissa herself had told Tommy Howe or Vaughan Kendells to go to the Void in his father’s hearing.  _And that could be now!_

Alfstanna seemed to realize what her friend was thinking, and she gave Elissa a desperate look, shaking her head quickly once. Elissa suppressed a sigh; she supposed that now was probably not the best time to shock the arl. “I am not a mage,” she insisted. “I  _did_ track the wolf.”

“How?” sneered Tommy.

Elissa drew herself up tightly as she glared at him. “I don’t owe  _you_ an explanation.”

“Because it’s magic! And you’re afraid that you will be sent away from your parents and—”

Suddenly Elissa’s mother, Eleanor Cousland, the Teyrna of Highever, stepped forward. Anger was in her face as she glowered first at the Howe boy and then at the Arl himself. “I know what my daughter did,” she said imperiously, “and I assure you, it is not magic. It is a talent... and I trust that my word on this matter will be the end of this, my lord Arl.”

Rendon Howe glared at his son. “Certainly, my lady. I will have some words with my fool of a son later.”

* * *

Elissa paced nervously around the great room as she awaited her mother. The teyrna had promised her that she would talk with her about the talent as soon as she had a chance, and that it was  _not_ just something she had told the Arl of Amaranthine to placate him and silence his loudmouth son, but was the truth. Elissa was anxious to hear it. Would this be an explanation at last for the strange ability she had vaguely known of for years?

At last Eleanor entered the room, closing the door behind her. Elissa stopped her pacing and faced her mother, trying to read her expression. To her immediate relief, there was nothing in her mother’s face except pride and love.

“My dear daughter,” Eleanor said, approaching Elissa and giving her a hug. “Let us have a seat.”

Elissa took a seat in a chair next to her mother’s. “It isn’t magic, is it?” she asked.

Eleanor gazed compassionately at her. “It is not magic—at least not as the Chantry defines magic.”

Elissa thought about that for a moment, trying to figure out what her mother meant. “But... what is it, then?” she said. “You make it sound as if it really is something... different.”

“It is that,” said Eleanor. “Different, yes.” She gazed at her daughter lovingly. “My dear... you have inherited a rare gift from the Mac Eanraig bloodline. My bloodline. I do not even have it myself, it is so unusual now. But it is in my family history, _your_ family history on my side.”

“What do you mean, Mother? What gift?” Elissa honestly had no idea what her mother meant. As a noble girl, she had learned all about the history of her family on both sides, the proud heritage, the valor and honor in ancient and modern times that gave Couslands and Mac Eanraigs such respect throughout the Coastlands... but she had never heard of any special talent passed down.

Eleanor smiled. “Do you know why I became known as the Seawolf,” she asked, “instead of the Sea Dragon, or the Kraken, or the Shark?”

Elissa thought about that. Her mother was known as the Seawolf for her ferocity at sea in the war for liberation against the Orlesians. It had attracted her father, and her parents had fallen in love during the war. But now that she had to consider the question, she actually _didn’t_ know why her mother had been given that specific appellation. She faced her mother and shook her head. “I guess not,” she admitted. “I suppose it has something to do with why I can... call to wolves... and this gift that you refer to.”

Eleanor smiled proudly. “It does,” she confirmed. She relaxed in her chair, implying a story ahead. Elissa tried to relax too as her mother narrated. “Long ago, before King Calenhad, before there even was a nation called Ferelden, the Alamarri tribes—our ancestors—had people occasionally who could form a special bond with a particular kind of animal, sometimes more than one. They called it ‘ranging’ and those who could do it ‘rangers.’ Scholars claim that the Avvar barbarians in the mountains still see this ability very often, at least in comparison with us... as do the Dalish elves in their clans... and there are even tales out of the dwarven kingdom of dwarves who have formed a similar type of bond with creatures of the underground, like brontos and deepstalkers... but among modern humans, it has become very rare as we have intermarried more and more outside those families with ‘pure’ Alamarri or Avvar blood. Perhaps it was never that common even in ancient times.” She took a breath. “But the Mac Eanraig family had that ability.”

Elissa gasped as understanding dawned for her.

“For the ancient Mac Eanraigs, the animal with which they could ‘commune’ was the wolf,” Eleanor continued. “As my family legends have it, once in a rare while, a Mac Eanraig would have the ability to call to wolves like an alpha, sometimes even to a great wolf, a direwolf, who commands the respect of all others of its kind and stands above their packs.” She gazed at her daughter, who was staring at her with awed, enraptured—and, admittedly, slightly frightened—eyes. “Some awareness of it remained in common knowledge even after it seemed that the ability itself faded, which is why I was called the Seawolf. Even during my lifetime, those on the islands associated my family with the trait. It has been a long time since one of us was a ranger... but there can be little doubt that that is what it is for you.”

Elissa tried to take this all in. It wasn’t magic; she wasn’t a mage; it was  _ranging_ and it was an ancient talent from her mother’s bloodline.... As she allowed herself to accept this, images filled her mind, imaginings of fierce but lovely barbarians of the islands calling to wolves... or bears, or harts, or wyverns.... It was a vision of a Ferelden before it bore that name, a time that had now fallen into the murk of legend, as her mother’s account proved. A time when the Alamarri, the Avvar, and the Chasind ruled the land in holds with ranger chieftains and mage augurs instead of nobles such as her own family and Chantry priests. Elissa was a little frightened at how appealing this vision was to her... but she also knew that that time was long gone, with the exception of a few remote pockets.

But  _she_ had this talent. Regardless of what the world had become now, she was apparently a ranger of the forest wolves, and surely there was a reason for that. She was meant to have this gift, she was certain.

“I have this,” she murmured, just loudly enough for her mother to hear and smile. She glanced up at Eleanor. “Fergus—does he? He has never said anything to me about it....”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t think he can, darling. Now, you mustn’t boast about that to him. If the Maker wanted you to be born with this talent, which He must have, He didn’t intend you to be smug and arrogant about it, especially not to your own brother.”

Elissa considered that before nodding. She might have wanted to boast of it to the likes of Tommy Howe—or Habren Bryland, for that matter—but not to Fergus. And she reluctantly acknowledged privately that her mother was right that she ought not to boast of it at all. Grudgingly she recalled Tommy’s reaction to her tracking of the wolf today.

“I admit, I don’t know how to teach you to develop your gift,” Eleanor said. “I wish I did... but I will try to find what I can in my family lore.”

In that moment, Elissa was not worried about such a mundane concern. Of course her mother would find the lore that she needed. Everything seemed fine and all was well for Elissa’s world right now, she felt with a surge of love for her mother. “This is wonderful,” she told Eleanor, sincerity in her words, “and I’m so proud that I have this. Not  _arrogant,_ but proud—I can be proud of it, right? Like I am proud that I am a Cousland too?”

“Of course you can, my dear.”

Elissa smiled. “And... if I may say so... I _was_ kind of worried when Tommy Howe was so insistent that it was magic, since I knew it was different from normal tracking and didn’t know what it could be. I am glad that I won’t be sent to a tower and taken from our family.”

Eleanor hugged her daughter, giving her a kiss on top of her brunette head. “I hope you will have your family for a long, long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this explanation of the Ranger spec for a human rogue is _totally_ made-up, but it’s one of those things in the games that look mightily close to magic in some ways and yet not quite. Therefore I have given it a mystical legend as its origin while not making it human-specific.
> 
> And to be clear, I am _not_ going to turn this into direwolf warging—it is the Ranger spec and that’s it. I do admit, as a _Song of Ice and Fire_ fan (a disgruntled one, but nonetheless a fan), that there will be some influences of that series upon these characters, because it’s unavoidable for writers to be influenced by other stories that they like. My AU Hawke, Caitlyn, is a female antihero whose characterization (especially later in her story) is influenced by my _extremely_ sympathetic/outright apologist view of Daenerys Targaryen. You’ll also see some influence of the loathsome Joffrey Baratheon (or Lannister... or _Hill,_ really) on both Tommy Howe and Vaughan Kendells. On the other hand, this Elissa is going to be somewhat influenced by Arya Stark (if Arya were gay), since she is a ranger and is more classically “honorable” than my radical-revolutionary aggro pyromancer mage. But she’s still herself first and foremost, not any other character.
> 
>  **Temporary Endnote:** I am in a prolonged recovery from presumptive COVID-19 (all the symptoms and known contact with someone who had a confirmed positive case of it), and if you haven’t had this, you don’t want it even if you are healthy. It wears your body out, and that’s been the problem for me. I also have another story that’s a WIP as well as a shorter fic. My overall point, I guess, is not to expect extremely frequent updates to this story for a while, until those fics are complete and I have fully recovered my energy level. But I did want to begin it, as it has been in the works for a while. Hope you enjoyed so far!


	2. Mistaken Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the interest in this fic! I am feeling a bit better now. If you are in a country where this virus is not controlled, wear your mask and socially distance yourself! It’s bad news.
> 
> I promised myself that this story would not be filled with 10,000-word chapters like some of my previous ones. This isn’t that length, but... I see that it is longer than chapter 1. This won’t continue, that I promise.
> 
> Implicit future (brief) Elissa/OC in this chapter.

_Dragon 9:21._

“On your left!”

Elissa smirked; she knew Ser Roderick Gilmore’s tricks very well now—and so it did not surprise her when, instead, the knight’s wooden training sword came down as he dodged to her  _right._ Elissa was watching what he did, not what he said, and so she was ready for him to attack from either direction.

His shield was not protecting his right underarm, Elissa noted. There was also a flash of blue between the silver of his armor. As she had discovered since she began training with a variety of blades, daggers might require one to get in very close, but when she could manage that, it was actually  _easier_ to defeat someone who fought with a sword than someone who also preferred daggers. A long blade was nearly useless against an opponent who had breached one’s area of defense.

Elissa moved forward faster than the knight could respond, past the sword’s reach. In a fraction of a second, she was in the gap, a wooden dagger out, the tip pressed against Ser Roderick’s tunic.

Had this been a real fight against a genuine foe, and had Elissa been carrying sharp metal blades, it would have gone to his heart.

Ser Roderick drew back, shocked that a thirteen-year-old had just bested him, but he was a gentleman about it. “Well done!” he praised, removing his helmet and bowing to her in surprise. He glanced back at the others present. Alfstanna was visiting again. He had defeated her during her turn, though she had put up a fight. On the opposite side of the courtyard from Alfstanna was Fergus Cousland. They had not dueled yet. Elissa felt a smug grin form on her face as she realized that her brother was now under pressure to defeat his friend.

Alfstanna looked somewhat preoccupied, Elissa noted as she stepped back from the fight. Her gaze had, of course, been fixed upon the combatants, but she still seemed a little glassy-eyed, looking at Ser Roderick and Fergus as Elissa approached her. At last she noticed her friend’s approach.

“That was great!” she exclaimed as Elissa reached her.

Roderick bowed to his next opponent as Fergus picked up a training sword.

Elissa was grinning ear to ear as the fight grew heated. To his shame, Fergus began falling behind. He had not been knighted, and his training—though genuine—was not as serious and rigorous as that of a man or woman who  _did_ intend to pursue a military career such as Ser Roderick. Fergus was the presumptive heir of Highever; he would not need to make his way in the world by his skill at arms.

Elissa enjoyed training—it was fun to learn how to fight other people in melee, rather than simply hunting with her bow and arrows—but she wondered if, perhaps, she was doing this in part because she feared she  _would_ need to make her way by her skill at arms. The usual alternatives for a noble girl who was not set to inherit the title were unappealing to her: entering the Chantry or marrying some lord or lord’s son. A year after the meeting at Highever in which she’d thought about kissing girls, she still had not come across a single boy that she could stomach the thought of touching in that manner—and she  _certainly_ could not stand the idea of her parents arranging a marriage  _for_ her. If her  _only_ choices had been to marry someone or enter the Chantry, she would have chosen the Chantry.

Indeed, there had been a time about four years ago when Elissa  _had_ seriously thought about it, but as a Templar rather than a priest. She had known even as a child that she had a preference for female company, though she had not yet had thoughts of kissing anybody—male or female. But she also knew, of course, that while priests were female, they were also bound by vows to the Maker. Templars weren’t, at least not that type of vow—and Elissa knew that there were girl Templars, who would be muscular and fierce....

A rather upsetting incident in the forests of Highever had shaken that urge right out of Elissa. She had been alone when it happened. To this day, no one knew that she had witnessed it, but it had left an impression on her.

_She was tracking a deer, hoping to carry it home to Highever to feast upon that night, with a trophy mounted in the Cousland game room beside other beasts that Couslands had hunted over the ages. She was being as quiet as a mouse, trekking through the woods with her bow drawn and an arrow nocked—she was sure that the stag was nearby—and yes, there it was, a magnificent rack, just in the clearing beyond the thicket Elissa was hiding in. The animal blinked, unaware that its death was nearby...._

_“There he is!”_

_The stag vanished in a flurry of hoofbeats, Elissa silently cursing whatever loud, blasted man had decided to storm through._

_To her surprise, a boy with honey-blond hair, who seemed only two or three years older than nine-year-old Elissa herself, stumbled into the clearing. He was dressed raggedly, as if he had been on the run for days, like some sort of homeless beggar child. He tumbled to the ground as two tall men in Templar armor cornered him._

_The boy quailed, covering his face. “Don’t hurt me! I just wanted to see my mum again. I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to—”_

_“Your mum would pray for you if she saw you,” said one of the Templars. “She knows you belong in the Circle and doesn’t want you to be an apostate.”_

_The boy—a mage, Elissa realized, to her own somewhat frightened excitement—suddenly stood upright and glared at the Templars with an expression filled with so much defiance and hate that it shocked her that it could have come from someone close to her age. He pointed at the one who had spoken as if uttering a malediction. “That’s not true,” he seethed. “You’re lying! You all lie to make us feel bad! She wanted to keep me! My dad is the one who didn’t want me! Don’t you tell lies about my mum!”_

_The two Templars exchanged glances, though Elissa could not see their expressions through their helmets. “Look, don’t fight,” the other one said. “You’re bright, I hear. You know you won’t outrun us or fight us off. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”_

_Although he did seem to realize that he was defeated, the mage boy grimaced miserably and clenched his fists in despairing fury, white glows of magic appearing in each one—Elissa ducked low to the ground from within her blind, shocked and actually frightened now—_

_The first Templar sighed and raised his hand. Elissa felt it herself, becoming slightly winded from the Templar’s Smite, as the boy fell to the ground unconscious._

_As the Templars scooped up the child and carried him off, Elissa realized that her heart was pounding._

_She also realized that, if the boy had found her before the Templars had found him, she might have wanted to help him. If anyone tried to take her from her parents, she would certainly want to go home. She could hardly blame him for wanting to see his mum, even if he was a mage. She had never thought about mage children before, just adults. She had known the Highever Healer and that was it. Templars apprehended dangerous maleficarum, which was exciting and admirable, but this.... Maybe Templars had to do their job like anyone else, but taking a child who wanted to see his mum would be hard._

That was the last day Elissa ever considered that specific form of training. But in Ferelden, women had other options than Chantry service or marriage. Women could be knighted, become officers in the king’s army, even become Grey Wardens. They could even join mercenary companies if they so chose, though that would not be a respectable thing for a noblewoman to do.

Elissa was still not sure what course she would take. It was uncommon to see knights who fought as she did, with daggers in hand while armored in light mail and leather, so as to make it easier to move quickly. It was not considered dishonorable fighting, but the training of a knight did tend to assume a very structured approach to combat that placed a premium on physical strength. Elissa was becoming more toned the more that she trained, but she was not growing too much taller than the average height of a woman. It just came more naturally to her to fight as she did.

Something would turn up, she decided, as she watched Ser Roderick and her brother spar.

Beside her, Alfstanna let out a shriek. Elissa watched as Ser Roderick disarmed Fergus, the wooden blade clattering to the floor. Her brother brought his hand to his mouth, an oath escaping his lips from the bruise that his friend had inadvertently put on him.

“Oh, how are you going to live _that_ down, Fergus?” came another voice. Elissa whirled around to see that her father had been watching in amusement. “Your little sister beat him and you didn’t!”

Fergus shook his head. “Next time.”

Bryce smiled at them all. Elissa smiled too, immensely pleased with herself, not because her brother had lost, but because she had won. She would have been pleased no matter what had come of Fergus’s match, she realized—but it was very satisfying that she had defeated a trained knight.

Fergus stumbled away, nursing his hand. “Are you all right?” Alfstanna suddenly called out to him.

“It’s nothing. A bruise on the wrist. Some elfroot should help.” He smiled at her, then at his sister. “Maybe I should take up _her_ style of fighting.”

Elissa laughed. “Maybe you should!”

Alfstanna looked very happy as they all entered the castle. _She wanted me to win, too,_ Elissa thought, taking joy in the look of happiness on her face. It set her heart aflutter. _She liked watching me win. It has been a year since I... asked something... of her that she was too embarrassed to do, but maybe she is finally close to accepting it herself._

* * *

Elissa’s mother was talking with Aldous, the Couslands’ resident scholar and the young people’s tutor, when they all entered the common room. She greeted them and dismissed Aldous to the library.

“Mother,” Elissa said, “guess what? I beat Ser Roderick!”

Eleanor raised her eyebrows and smiled. “Congratulations!”

“She’s good, my lady,” said the knight. “She’ll be a menace in combat when she is grown up if she stays on this path.”

“I fully intend to keep training,” Elissa said proudly.

“Of course!” Eleanor agreed. “You _are_ my daughter, after all.”

Elissa lingered by her mother as the others dispersed. “Were you talking with Aldous about the family lore?” she asked in a low voice.

Eleanor sighed. “Yes, I was,” she confirmed, “but... it is difficult to find solid information, I’m afraid. The Mac Eanraig library does not seem to contain anything of use. It may require expeditions to remote places such as abandoned keeps on the islands, or even trade with the Avvar in the Frostbacks. This could take some time, Elissa. I regret that.”

“I’m still training,” she said stoutly, “and the good thing is that I can train with my blades and archery and I won’t need to relearn any of that whenever we do have the information about being a ranger. It’s a different thing.”

“That it is,” Eleanor agreed, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. “You are right to train. Keep at it!”

* * *

_A fortnight later._

The majority of Coastlands noble families, including the Howes, were visiting Highever to celebrate Summerday, as they often did—well, the Howes minus the eldest, Nathaniel. Elissa still wondered what he had done to offend his father so much that the Arl had exiled him to the Free Marches... but then, Rendon Howe often did not need any particular reason. The man was known for his mercurial temper. Elissa was glad that he was not  _her_ father and felt very sorry for Delilah Howe, who was six months older than she, and just a year and a half younger than Alfstanna.

It was traditional for the Coastlands families to organize an informal tournament at Highever for Summerday. There was a friendly rivalry between the families sworn directly to the Couslands and those sworn to the Howes, as well as one between the high lords themselves... though, Elissa thought, was it just her imagination, or was this a little less friendly than usual on the part of the Arl of Amaranthine? She had overheard her parents muttering that Rendon Howe seemed a bit resentful of the teyrn lately. He had always been irked that Amaranthine, a city second only to Denerim in population and mercantile importance to Ferelden, was merely an arling, while the much smaller town of Highever was the seat of a teyrnir. Lately, though, her parents seemed to think it was getting worse.

But Elissa did not let it worry her. She had better things to think about than the ill-humor of a nobleman that she had never especially liked. She had been training so furiously for the past fortnight in the hopes of competing in the tourney herself. It would be her first time to fight rather than watch. There were several competitions, including a horse race, a joust, a melee fight, and an archery contest. Elissa had more years of experience with her bow, but she had learned already that she had more natural talent for her daggers, and she hoped to spar in the melee—if her parents allowed it.

Ser Roderick and Fergus were going to compete, and they practiced frequently in anticipation of the event. Elissa and Alfstanna often insisted on taking their turns too, sparring with each other when the young men were too tired or busy.

They soon acquired other hangers-on as well. As the Cousland children, Alfstanna, and—to the amusement of all three of them—Tommy Howe sparred with Ser Roderick, Delilah merely watched, a sad expression on her face.

Ser Roderick very blatantly did not like having to spar with Tommy Howe. The younger boy had absolutely no skill and no desire to learn, because he did not think he needed to despite his repeat failures. Somehow, in his mind, it was never his fault. Every time that Roderick put him on his backside in fifteen seconds, his training sword flying from his hand, Tommy declared petulantly that Roderick was “cheating” and that he, Tommy, could win in “a fair fight.”

Finally Elissa had had enough. She strode forward. “Why don’t you fight  _me,_ Tommy?” she taunted. “Why don’t you fight  _all of us_ in turn, for that matter? And when we all beat you, will that mean we all cheated? Or might it mean that you don’t know what you are doing?”

Tommy scowled at her. “I know how  _you_ fight. You and her both. You don’t fight like knights. Of course you would cheat.”

“Ser Roderick is a knight,” Alfstanna spoke up, before Elissa could verbally take umbrage at his accusation. “You accused him of cheating too.”

“He is. He has to be.”

“What is he doing, then?” Elissa said heatedly. “What is he doing that is ‘cheating’? Specifically?”

Tommy scowled, silenced.

“You’ve questioned the honor of a Cousland, a Cousland knight, and the daughter of a Cousland vassal, while you are a guest in Highever Castle. You can’t defend it, either. You can’t prove what you say, because what you say is false. No one is cheating; you just aren’t any good. In Ferelden, people have to answer for their words.” She picked up a pair of training daggers. “I’m going to make you take the consequences.”

Tommy gasped as she advanced on him. He waved his training sword around in wide arcs, his gaze darting wildly, trying to make a guess as to how Elissa would attack him.

She was upon him at once, crossing the two daggers beneath his wooden blade, then swinging them apart elegantly. The Howe boy’s sword flew from his hand, falling to the floor in a clatter. He was disarmed in less than five seconds. Elissa put the tip of one dagger under his chin. “Apologize,” she said.

He gulped, swallowing hard. He clearly did not want to say the words.

“Tommy, you know you are wrong,” came a quiet voice from across the courtyard. “Say it.” Elissa realized with surprise that Delilah Howe had been the one to speak.

Tommy glowered at her. “Sorry,” he spat.

Elissa did not move the dagger. “Sorry for what?”

He scowled furiously. “For... for saying you lot cheated.”

She held the wooden blade in place for a moment more before drawing it away, suspicion still in her eyes. “If you want to carry a blade, learn how to use it,” she said in contempt. “It’s not decorative.”

Tommy’s scowl deepened, and for a moment Elissa wondered if  _he_ might try something dishonorable, something like kicking or hitting her after the duel—such as it was—was officially ended. But in this particular moment, his sense actually won out, so he drew away from her with nothing more than a glare of anger on his petulant face.

No one seemed to have any interest in sparring after that, and the small group broke up. Once the Howes and Roderick were out of earshot, Fergus spoke up. “I could have done that,” he said to his sister. “I’m the heir of Highever. He would be less likely to hold a grudge against me for it.”

Elissa raised an eyebrow at her brother. “Any of us  _could_ have done it, but I wanted to,” she said. “He questioned my honor  _explicitly._ He did not specifically call you a cheater. And I’m not afraid of him.”

“I’m not afraid of _him_ either, but you know about the Arl,” said Fergus.

Elissa considered that. Arl Howe disturbed her sometimes, it was true.... “But he has been hard on Tommy when he does obnoxious things,” she said, to reassure herself as much as anything else. “At least, if he finds out about it. He isn’t Arl Urien.  _That_ man could see Vaughan hitting a child and would then declare that it was his right as a lord to use his subjects as he saw fit.”

“True,” Fergus considered. “Howe doesn’t tolerate Tommy’s stupidity. But you know he doesn’t approve of the fact that you fight—you or Alfstanna.”

“I don’t care what Rendon Howe thinks of the fact that we fight,” Elissa said, a touch of anger in her words. “He fought beside Father in the war against Orlais. He saw Mother, Queen Rowan, and other warrior women. If women _don’t_ fight, it doesn’t mean that dishonorable men will behave nicely; it just makes it easier for them to do us harm. Arl Howe should know that.”

Alfstanna chimed in eagerly. “She’s right,” she said to Fergus. “Arl Howe probably saw all that in the war and now thinks that it’s better to keep women ‘protected’ from it... but real enemies would not see it that way.”

“I don’t agree with Arl Howe!” Fergus exclaimed. “I’m just saying what he seems to think about my sister’s training. He would resent Tommy being beaten by her more than he would if I’d been the one to do it.”

Elissa shrugged. “Too bad for him. If he doesn’t want his son and heir to be beaten, then he should do something about Tommy’s pride and arrogance. He has no skill, but that’s because he doesn’t think he needs to learn anything.”

Fergus considered that before nodding in accord.

* * *

Elissa woke up the next day to find Alfstanna nowhere in sight. She had meant to either spar again or hunt in the woods—and perhaps to track wolves, as she wondered if perhaps she might be able to teach  _herself_ how to be a ranger if her mother could not acquire enough useful lore about the subject. She had hoped to have Alfstanna’s company for either choice. Her friend was learning how to use daggers too, and the girls enjoyed learning from each other’s technique... and of course, it was always fun to be in the woods with no human company except her best friend, hoping that as they trekked deeper into the forest, perhaps the wild mood of the place would make an impression on Alfstanna and she would  _finally_ express her feelings toward Elissa....

But she was off by herself, and nobody knew exactly where. Elissa investigated further, interrogating all of the Highever servants who might have encountered her friend. Finally a maid gave her an answer of sorts.

“If it please milady, the young lady went off toward the woods,” she said.

Elissa was a bit hurt. _Without me?_ she thought. _Alone? Why?_ But it would not do to show these feelings. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, her brow furrowing as she left to think about what to do.

Her talent was not for tracking _people_ in the woods, just wolves—and Alfstanna was a hunter just as she was, and would know how to be quiet and conceal her trail. It was quite likely that the two girls would miss each other if she went looking for her friend. Sighing inwardly, Elissa headed toward the training grounds again.

Along the way to the courtyard, she passed by Lady Landra, the lady wife of Bann Loren. No one particularly liked the bann himself very well, but Lady Landra was more popular. As Elissa passed her with a nod, she noticed someone she had never seen before, a pretty blonde elven girl who appeared—based on her womanly figure—several years older than Elissa herself. She was apparently the lady’s maid, Elissa supposed. The young elven woman gave Elissa a shy smile, casting her gaze toward the ground as if surprised by her own daring. Elissa grinned back as she continued.

She reached the courtyard, where numerous knights were practicing with training blades and others were shooting at hastily erected targets. Her parents were watching the proceedings serenely, Arl Howe with his usual half-sneer. She approached them.

“Mother. Father,” she said, gazing respectfully at them.

“Good morning, dear,” said Eleanor. “Were you able to find your friend?”

Elissa shook her head. “She went hunting, I guess. I heard that she was in the woods. I don’t know why she went without me, but that’s where she is.”

Eleanor smiled compassionately at her daughter. “We all want to be alone sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She gazed out at the fighters. “You came to watch as well, then?”

“Yes... and actually....” She hesitated for a moment before deciding to plunge ahead. “Fergus is competing this year. I would like to as well.”

Eleanor beamed. “Oh, that’s my girl! I can arrange it, certainly. Is your bowstring fresh and taut, then? Be sure that it is....”

“Oh,” Elissa said, flustered, “I actually meant in the melee. With daggers.”

Eleanor and Bryce exchanged looks before turning back to her. “Darling,” the teyrna said, “you... you’re thirteen, and you have only been training with daggers for a few months.”

“But I’m _good._ I beat Ser Roderick.”

“And that was quite an achievement,” she assured her, “but... this is different. You have never fought against numerous opponents all at once, almost all of whom would be much taller, more muscled, and most importantly, more _experienced_ than you.”

“But....”

“Many of these men and women fought in the war against Orlais,” Bryce said. “They’re seasoned soldiers. The melee is a free-for-all, and people get hurt in it, Elissa. Even though the rules are only to fight until first blood, people get hurt. Wait a few years for that... but you may compete in the archery contest, as your mother says.”

Elissa was gravely disappointed. She was sure that her parents were being too cautious, and that she would have been able to acquit herself just fine in the melee. Although she knew on some level that it was unrealistic, she even imagined herself winning the fray, defeating all those experienced veterans of the war, a legend of Ferelden at the mere age of thirteen... Alfstanna would have to look at her then, wouldn’t she?

But... the more rational side of Elissa then took over. _I won’t win against those people... at least, not yet. Someday, perhaps, but they are right; I am too inexperienced yet. But I can compete in archery. That’s something. And I won’t be sitting on the sidelines watching Fergus._

She nodded to her parents. “All right,” she said in a low voice. “Archery it is, then.” She gazed up at them, forcing a smile on her face.

Eleanor smiled at her. “Your day will come, dear.”

Somewhat mollified, Elissa settled in to watch the fighters who were currently in the courtyard practice. She sat on a cushioned bench that someone had set up for the spectators and gazed across the training grounds. She could identify some of the fighters by name, of course, particularly those knights who served Highever. They were also wearing tunics with the livery of Highever on them, of course... and she scanned the others, at least picking most of them out by location, even if she did not know all their names. The bear... that was Amaranthine, she thought. The helm and waves were the Waking Sea Bannorn. _Alfstanna’s family’s bannorn,_ she thought. She studied one particular knight who was wearing this heraldry and realized that he was Alfstanna’s older brother, Irminric, the heir of the bannorn. He was fighting a female knight, and they both used sword and shield.

The woman was older, not quite as old as Elissa’s mother but of that same generation. She wore a sigil that Elissa did not recognize. It was not the sigil of a bannorn, Elissa thought... so perhaps a landed knight with her own keep, who got to choose which bann, arl, or teyrn to whom she swore loyalty, like a freeholder. Elissa decided to watch this fight. She wanted to root for Irminric, but she found herself inadvertently hoping that the woman would defeat him....

The woman disarmed Irminric with a clatter of wood. The young man yielded, bowing to her, as they both took off their helmets. Then— _whoa!_ Elissa’s gaze was captured by the appearance of the female knight’s squire, who was also a woman, but a much younger one, perhaps fifteen or so, Alfstanna’s age. A girl, Elissa corrected herself in thought. She was blonde and freckled, and well-muscled from her squiring duties. Elissa watched, fascinated, as she helped her knight out of her armor.

“That’s Ser Edith Dedrick,” Eleanor said in an undertone. “Her keep is Caer Bronach at the village of Crestwood.”

Elissa was glad to know that—Crestwood was a tiny scrap of a village along the Coastlands, but famous for the valor of its first captain in the long war—but she was actually more curious about the identity of the knight’s beautiful squire. She supposed her parents probably would not know that.

When the squire was finished helping Ser Edith with her armor, she took her place as a spectator beside the knight. Elissa watched the rest of the training until Fergus won his match against Arl Howe. She wanted to leap up and cheer her brother for that... but the arl looked especially irked about it, stalking off and throwing his practice handaxes onto a weapons table. Beside Elissa, her parents shook their heads and sighed.

* * *

The tourney began at noon, the spectators being served food and drinks to consume as they watched the competitors. True to their word, Elissa’s parents had let her enter the archery contest. Alfstanna finally turned up, a mysterious smile on her face, just in time to see the festivities begin. Elissa wondered where she had been, but the contest was about to start, and she did not have the time to ask her friend that just yet.

Elissa steadied herself before the target, aware that some of the crowd sincerely supported her... but also aware that others were amused at her age and, perhaps, also her sex, assuming that her parents had merely humored a spoiled daughter’s whims and expecting her to do poorly....

She would show them.

She released her first arrow. It whizzed through the air and landed on the second ring out from the bull’s eye.

The sounds of amused chuckles faded.

Emboldened, the wild hope of actually winning this contest entering her mind again, Elissa released her second arrow. It clustered near the first one on the same ring.

_I have to improve,_ she thought, gazing determinedly at the target, trying to focus as she readied her last arrow.  _I want this one to be better, closer._ She closed her eyes for a moment to steady her mind, then opened them again and focused more. She released her final arrow. It thudded into the cork on the ring just outside the bull’s eye.

_I doubt I won,_ Elissa thought in mild regret as the crowd burst into surprised applause,  _but that was good! I didn’t embarrass myself. I impressed them. Maybe I even impressed her!_ She bowed to the crowd and returned to the crowd of participants, from which point she gazed at the faces of the spectators.

Alfstanna looked pleased, and when she caught her friend’s eye, Alfstanna dutifully applauded and smiled at Elissa. Elissa’s gaze shifted to her family... well, other than Fergus, who was being prepared for the melee. Her father and mother also smiled at her, pride evident in their eyes.

Arl Howe’s face was pinched, she noted... but she didn’t spend any time on that. To the Void with the man and his ill temper. Tommy Howe looked even more sour, but next to him, Delilah appeared pleased. She gazed at the rest of the crowd as other archers took their turn. The beautiful Crestwood squire was nowhere in sight.  _Helping Ser Edith,_ Elissa thought.

At last the archery contest was ended, and the winners were announced. Unfortunately, Elissa had not won—but she had placed a respectable fifth,  _more_ than respectable, in fact, given her age. She accepted the accolades and waved to the crowd, especially her family and best friend. Alfstanna gazed back, smiling as before.

_She’s happy for me but not as enthusiastic as I thought she would be,_ Elissa thought in mild disappointment as she returned to her seat.  _It can’t be that she is disappointed that I didn’t win. She has been more “grounded” about these things than I have been. I’m the one who competed, after all, not her. And why was she in the woods all morning? What’s going on? Did I offend her somehow?_

The moment of happiness now lost, Elissa resolved to get to the bottom of it after the tourney concluded.

* * *

_That evening._

The smells of sweat and ale filled the hall after the tournament. Fergus had acquitted himself respectably well in the melee, though he had not walked away with a win either. He was in good spirits about it, joking and chatting with some of the younger knights and squires after the event ended.

Elissa found herself itching to join in the festivities with this group. It was not only boys; there were several older girls there too—none as young as Elissa, but there were a couple who might have been Alfstanna’s age. Finally, she squared up her courage and took her friend’s arm, practically dragging the young lady with her into the corner of the raucous hall where the younger people were gathered.

Fergus noticed her at once as she approached and raised his foaming stein in a toast to her. “Hey, pup! To the sister who outflanked me in competition.”

Elissa laughed as she helped herself to a half pint and filled it from a nearby barrel. She was now officially old enough to have ale, so long as she did not have more than a pint. Alfstanna followed her.

“You did well too, though, and you weren’t competing in the same contests, of course,” Alfstanna said hesitantly to Fergus as she sipped her ale.

Fergus shrugged. “She might have beaten me in melee if Mother and Father had allowed it. Who knows? I think it’s clear, though, that someday my sister is going to be a force to reckon with.” He toasted her again.

“Am I not already?” Elissa teased boldly.

“I stand corrected,” her brother replied at once.

Elissa was about to reply with another cocky joke, but her attention was suddenly caught by the sight of the blonde squire. She really wondered who this was... and, as she took a swig of ale, decided to take advantage of her present surfeit of courage and ask.

“That girl,” she asked Fergus and his companions, with a nod to the squire. “Who is she?”

A young lordling whom she vaguely recognized as belonging to a small bannorn on one of the islands replied. “That’s Siobhan Dedrick. Crestwood.”

_She has the same surname as the knight,_ Elissa thought.  _Is that her mother? Would she actually squire for her own parent?_ “You know her? I’d like to be introduced.”

“It would be great to have a new friend and sparring partner,” Alfstanna agreed cheerfully. “Crestwood is not that far away. Maybe she will become a knight soon herself and then Ser Edith could spare her.”

Elissa wondered at the fact that Alfstanna did not seem even slightly jealous of her interest in being introduced to the pretty squire... but she did not have too much time to think about that, because in a few moments, the young woman was heading their way.

“It’s quite an honor that you want to meet me,” Siobhan exclaimed as she approached the teyrn’s daughter. “My lady. Thank you to your family for hosting us.”

This girl was a few years older than Elissa, but they were just close enough in age that she didn’t want her to be overly formal for too long. “The pleasure is mine. You are from Crestwood? Is Ser Edith related to you?”

“She is my mother,” Siobhan confirmed, “and... I know it’s unusual that I squire for her... but, well, Crestwood isn’t the wealthiest place, you understand, and it’s not a bannorn in its own right. My mother has lands and a keep. So....”

“Of course,” Elissa assured her. “I am just glad that you have the opportunity. You are training to be a knight yourself, then?”

“I am.”

Elissa felt a pang of envy at the older girl’s certainty that this would be her path. She must have a fighting style that was well-suited to being a knight, Elissa supposed... sword and shield, probably, since that was how her mother fought.

Sword and shield would also put the kind of muscle on a girl that Siobhan had....

Elissa tried to banish this thought from her mind.  _It’s appreciation, nothing else,_ she thought.  _Alfstanna is my friend. I don’t know Siobhan._

As they chatted socially, and Siobhan told the young nobles about life in Caer Bronach, Elissa found herself wondering if that state of affairs would last.

* * *

The party continued late into the night, people finally retiring—or simply passing out, in some cases. The group of young people had intended to stay up latest of anyone, but none of them could actually manage it, and finally, after the more sedate of them had already left, the rest—which included Fergus, one of his male friends, Alfstanna, Elissa, and Siobhan—made their way out of the feasting hall.

The young squire took her leave, giving Elissa an arch look, half a wink, as she left for the quarters where her mother was staying. Elissa’s heart thumped oddly. Still trying to make herself ignore it, she passed into the Cousland family rooms with her friend, her brother, and his close friend.

Fergus sat down in his favorite chair, laughing and chattering with his friend, when he noticed the bouquet of wildflowers that had been left on the side table next to his chair. He gazed at them in surprise, eyebrows rising on his forehead.

“Well, look at that!” exclaimed the other young man, noticing them too. “Somebody’s got a secret admirer!”

Fergus shook his head. “I’m sure it’s just something left here by accident.” He picked up the flowers, revealing a folded note beneath them. “Or... maybe not,” he said, unfolding it. He began to read. “‘Best of luck in the tourney! From a well-wisher.’”

Fergus’s friend thumped him on his back. “Told you! You just bring in _all_ the ladies, my friend.”

Fergus laughed and set the flowers and note down, shaking his head.

Elissa suddenly noticed that Alfstanna had cast her gaze down at her lap, as if to hide her face, and her dark hair hung on each side of her head, further obscuring it. _What is the matter?_ Elissa thought. She leaned forward ever so slightly, only to notice Alfstanna flushing faintly, though with a very upset look on her face.

A terrible feeling came over Elissa at that moment. _Fergus?_ she thought in growing horror. _All this time... I thought it was me... I thought she was smiling, cheering, being happy because of me. Being happy in a different way than she would be happy for someone who was just a friend. I thought she was shy about telling me because we are friends and she was afraid of ruining that. I thought... but... it was for him instead? No. Surely not._

 _She was away in the woods all morning...._ Elissa stole a quick glance at the flowers again, recognizing them as varieties that grew in clearings there.

Alfstanna lifted her head and gazed outward, squaring herself up and looking as serious as she could muster. It was a masterful job, Elissa had to admit, despite the turmoil in which she suddenly found herself. There was no sign of Alfstanna’s own unhappiness or embarrassment now. “Fergus?” she asked. “What did he mean by that? You have... lady friends?”

The young lordling looked somewhat sheepish, and uncomfortable talking about this subject in front of his sister and her friend who was not quite two years older than said sister. “I... well, you know, I’m almost twenty, and not betrothed. Why not, you know, enjoy being a bachelor while I can?”

“Of course,” Alfstanna said, trying to keep pain out of her voice. It succeeded—to everyone’s ears except Elissa’s. “Understandable, to be sure.”

He gave her an odd look before leaning back in the chair. “I don’t mistreat women,” he reassured her. “I’m the son of one strong woman and the brother of another.” He smiled at Elissa. “I know that there are lordlings who do, but I don’t do that sort of thing. Certainly wouldn’t force... affections... on anyone.”

“Oh, no,” Alfstanna said at once. “Of course! I never thought that.” She managed a rather forced smile. “Carry on, then.”

_Carry on,_ Elissa repeated in her whirling thoughts.  _Carry on. Carry on being friends, knowing that that’s what it is to her. How could I have been so mistaken?_

It suddenly became too much. The room was oppressive now, between the awkwardness Fergus was showing, the discomfort of his friend in inciting the entire discussion, and Alfstanna’s heroic effort to conceal her embarrassment and anguish that her fancy was not interested in her, may not have even realized that she was the secret admirer, and clearly preferred to enjoy being single for a while yet, with all that implied.

And Elissa’s own turbulent feelings made the situation untenable.

She rose from her chair, forcing a yawn. “I’m tired,” she announced, trying to keep pain out of her own words just as Alfstanna had. “It was a long day, and I need to go to bed now.”

“Probably a good idea for all of us,” Fergus agreed.

Silently they filed out of the room.

* * *

“I didn’t know that it was Fergus,” Elissa said in a low voice to Alfstanna once the girls were in Elissa’s bedroom with the door closed. “I thought.... I thought you liked someone else.”

_“Someone else.” Me. That’s what I thought. Why can’t I say it?_ she tormented herself.

Alfstanna sighed. “I realized that you didn’t know when you made that dare a year ago. That... kissing dare. You wouldn’t have done that if you’d thought it was your own brother.” She gazed curiously at Elissa. “Who did you think it was? Ser Roderick? He  _is_ cute. But we don’t see that many eligible boys.”

_She really has no idea,_ Elissa thought in growing despair.  _It didn’t even cross her mind that it could be a girl—that it could be me._ “I... don’t want to say,” she said, equally unhappily.

“But—”

“I don’t want you to be embarrassed when you are around... this person,” she forced out. _Maker, that’s true, at least._ She forced a mirthless smile on her face. “I was mistaken. Let’s just let it go.”

Alfstanna looked for a moment as if she wanted to pursue it, but then she assented, seeing the wisdom in her friend’s words even if she still did not comprehend the full reason. “All right,” she agreed, lying down on the mattress. “That’s a good point. I should just... move on.” She forced a laugh. “It’s just a fancy.”

_Just a fancy,_ Elissa thought as she lay on the other pillow, extinguishing the candle. She preferred the darkness right now.  _Fancies don’t last. They are temporary. We... can move on from them._

_But... I really thought she had the same feelings for me that I did for her. I thought she was like me. We have everything else in common. We like to fight, to hunt, to wear leathers instead of gowns... to be “unladylike”...._

_I guess liking “unladylike” activities and... liking girls... are two different things. They do not have to go together._ Elissa turned on her side so that her friend— _and we are just friends,_ she thought unhappily—could not see her face, even though it was dark.  _But I was hoping it would be easy to find other girls like me because we liked the same things._

_Are there other girls like me?_ she wondered darkly. In that gloomy hour of disappointment and shock, she was questioning that too now.  _My brother likes girls. My best friend likes boys. My parents are the same way. The other girls I have met talk about boys they fancy or betrothals they think they want. I’ve never met anyone like me._

The memory of the beautiful blonde squire, Siobhan Dedrick, returned to her mind. She did not think she had imagined the knowing arch look that the young woman had given her after their introduction.

Elissa plumped her pillow. _Don’t think like that,_ she chastised herself. _It will only make you disappointed again._

* * *

The guests departed Highever the next day. Elissa gave her friend a quick hug, feeling like a rotten traitor for the fact that she actually was looking forward to being alone, without her friend present. It was uncomfortable for her now, and she guessed that it was probably so for Alfstanna as well. _This will pass,_ she tried to console herself. _We will be able to laugh about it someday. We just need time alone to think about everything._

But as days turned to weeks, Alfstanna did not visit Highever again—not to hunt in the woods, not to spar, not to talk. Elissa felt pain at the thought of her friendship fading, especially over something foolish. Alfstanna didn’t think she needed to avoid Fergus, surely? If he or his male friends dared to make sport of her for her fancy, Elissa would fight them, she vowed—fight them and pull her friend into it as well. And she wasn’t even sure that the young men had surmised the situation.

_Did she figure out what it is for me after all, then?_ Elissa brooded.  _Did she guess that I thought I was the one she fancied, and it’s me she wants to avoid now? That would be awful. I want to keep the friendship even if we can’t... even if she can’t...._

Weeks became a month, then two—but finally, as summer turned to autumn and the leaves changed color, Elissa had her answer.

* * *

_Harvestmere, Dragon 9:21._

Although it had only been a season, Alfstanna looked as if she had aged five years. Her mother accompanied her, looking as if she had aged as well, and the teyrn and teyrna quickly took the lady into a private parlor. When Alfstanna was shown into a different parlor with Elissa, Elissa knew at once that something was very, very wrong.

“My lord father... is unwell,” she said quietly, her gaze set firmly on Elissa’s face, as if forcing herself to look strong.

Elissa’s heart sank. Suddenly she was ashamed of imagining that the problem had anything to do with some foolish fancies. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently, her heart thudding. “Will he... get better?”

Alfstanna shook her head. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “Only if the Maker sends a miracle to our family,” she said. “We sent for the best Healer that the Circle of Magi could offer... a very kind woman, really, her name is Wynne... but... she can’t....” Alfstanna’s voice broke.

Elissa had been seated across from her friend, because she wanted to give Alfstanna her space, but she could not ignore this. She rose from her chair and sat next to Alfstanna on the small two-seat divan, embracing her gently.

Alfstanna suppressed her sobs enough to speak. “It’s still hard,” she managed. She took a breath. “It is his heart. It is failing. And... the Healer said she can give him perhaps four years....”

Elissa hugged her silently. She could not even imagine what it would be like to know that one of her parents was expected to die in four years. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “If there is anything that I can do... or my family....”

Alfstanna patted her back. “I am sure my mother is explaining everything to your parents,” she said. She drew away, taking a deep breath. “There’s more.”

Elissa suddenly realized that Alfstanna’s brother Irminric, the heir-presumptive of the bannorn, was not there. Fear suddenly took her. “Your brother!” she exclaimed, taking her friend’s hands. “Is he—?”

“Oh—he is well,” Alfstanna said, “thank the Maker. But... something has happened. Something has... changed, I suppose I should say.” She gazed at Elissa. “Healer Wynne was delayed reaching us—it would not have made a difference for my father,” she reassured Elissa at the look on the latter’s face, “but she was delayed because of a confrontation with a small band of maleficarum. They were lurking about the Circle Tower, apparently, wanting to infiltrate, she thinks. Anyway... my brother had been thinking for some time that he was not sure he wanted to... succeed our father,” she said, her voice suddenly cracking again at that thought. “But this incident made him decide. He has renounced his claim and joined the Templars as a recruit.”

Many thoughts flashed through Elissa’s mind in the space of that second: the idea of Irminric Eremon as a Templar, the realization that this meant Alfstanna was now the heir of the bannorn, the four-year-old memory of Templars capturing the escaped mage boy in the forests of Highever—

“He specifically wants to be a Templar because of the maleficarum?” Elissa said.

Alfstanna nodded. “It made him very angry that such evil could prevent a good person, a Healer, from using her magic to serve man as Andraste said.”

Elissa felt oddly relieved that her best friend’s brother would not, hopefully, be going about the countryside rounding up children. Even if some of them had to do it, it was a sad thing to think about. Moving on, she gazed at Alfstanna in earnest. “Then this means that you... you are the heir.” She tried to be as kind as she could about it; while this was good news for Alfstanna, it certainly would not have been the way she would have chosen to be named the heir—knowing that she would inherit in a mere four years or even fewer.

Alfstanna nodded again, sadness in her face. “It is a great honor and responsibility,” she admitted, her voice low and quiet, “but... not like this. Not so soon.”

Elissa hugged her again. Alfstanna returned this hug as well before drawing back and facing Elissa, that sad look still present. “I... I don’t know how much time we will get to spend together now, between my poor father... and I must learn how to be a bann, too. My mother... she will be... mourning....” Alfstanna paused to gather her emotions before continuing. “Both now and... after.”

“It is a long goodbye,” Elissa said quietly, her gaze cast down.

“Yes,” Alfstanna agreed. “A long goodbye. But... I guess at least we can prepare for it. Better to know and prepare than for it to be sudden.”

Elissa shuddered at that idea. She dreaded the day that this happened to her and hoped that it would be similar to how it was going to be for Alfstanna, with lots of time to prepare.

“So... I must be the pillar of strength now. I will already be rather young... eighteen, nineteen if the Maker gives us four years with him... but I don’t want to make my mother act as a regent for me while she mourns her husband. He is my father, but he’s her _husband._ I just... I need to be in the bannorn now. I need to learn how to become a good bann, to make sure my father leaves this world knowing that his lands will be in good hands with me. I don’t know....” She sighed. “I don’t know how much I will be able to see you over the next four years.”

“Of course,” Elissa agreed. She gave her yet another hug. “I understand.”  _ I will miss you, _ she thought unhappily,  _ but I understand. You must do your duty. _


	3. A Quaint Little Village

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said no 10,000-word chapters? So do I.
> 
> A note for those who are uncomfortable reading about minor ships involving the main characters: There’s some M-rated Elissa/OFC content at the end of this chapter, and I’ve updated the story’s ship tags accordingly. Elissa is 15 and Siobhan is 17 when it occurs. Although it qualifies, I do not really want to use the Underage warning for that, so I’m keeping this fic’s archive warning status as it is. And once again, this is an Elissa/Leliana _DA:O_ fic (and some of the Elissa/Leliana sex scenes will go full Explicit). I’m just doing some background chapters first and preferred to characterize Elissa as a healthy lesbian comfortable with herself who knew it already by the Blight. There is going to be enough drama and angst in the Blight without a “coming out” arc occurring at the same time.
> 
> My outline has game content beginning in chapter 6, after one more Elissa prequel chapter and a single chapter of prequel for Leliana in Lothering.
> 
> Whew, long notes! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

_Dragon 9:22._

It had been a long winter at Highever. Although the northern Storm Coast was the warmest site in Ferelden, no area was particularly pleasant during the cold season, and it seemed to Elissa that the absence of Alfstanna made a difficult time worse.

She continued to train, retreating from the sunny courtyard to a hall inside the castle. Elissa could watch the female knights spar when she was not, which was nice... but it was not the same without a friend nearby to share.

_She never shared that with me,_ Elissa thought one cold day as she watched.  _I only thought she did. She was watching Fergus instead—Fergus or Ser Roderick or some other male knight. We never shared the same enjoyment... but... at least I could think we did. At least we were there together. When will we be together again? She wants to have all the time that she can with her father, and she must learn how to be a bann. It’s possible that the next time I will see her again will be next Summerday at the tourney, when she represents the Waking Sea Bannorn. She won’t be able to be carefree with me then._

Elissa’s heart grew heavy at the realization, which was slowly sinking in that winter, that her close youthful friendship was fading into the sort of casually friendly, genial acquaintance that so many nobles had with each other.

Siobhan Dedrick, the squire who lived in Crestwood, had not been back to Highever. That did not entirely surprise Elissa; it seemed that Crestwood was a poor village and it would need to tighten its belt for the winter. She just hoped that Siobhan would remember her when they could speak again.

Elissa took comfort in the regularity of training, seeing with a practical eye that it could one day give her the options that she desired. _It is hard now,_ she thought one bitter day, _but this training will mean that I can live the sort of life I would like to, as a knight or high-ranking officer in the king’s army, rather than having to marry some boy or put on a priest’s habit—or chase mage children who want to see their parents._

Her father was the overlord of all the freeholders and lesser nobles who swore fealty to him. In addition to being the teyrn, he also held the bannorn of Highever Town in his own name, rather than delegating management of his own family’s village to someone else. Fergus would inherit that title as well as the teyrnir. But Elissa was aware that her parents owned all sorts of property—random manors or towerhouses—in the teyrnir. Some of these small properties had tenants and some did not. But remembering this brought relief to Elissa, because it meant that someday she could have a perfectly respectable home of her own, a home suitable to her birth, without having to take on the highly unwanted burden of a husband. She just knew that she needed to keep training and become the fearsome fighter that she knew she could be.

Over the course of the winter, these practical thoughts brought Elissa some degree of comfort. It would not replace the friendship that seemed to be fading away, but it was something.

Finally, as winter began to give way to the spring, a momentous change occurred for her.

* * *

“My dear,” Teyrna Eleanor said, holding a leather-bound journal to her chest as Elissa approached, “I have news.”

Elissa sat down next to her mother. The book smelled good, she thought idly—old leather, old parchment, and... if winter had a smell, this was it, she thought.

“As you may know,” Eleanor began, “we trade with the Avvar, especially during the winter. They are our kin from afar, you know—long ago—but also, it is in Ferelden’s interest for the Avvar to have a peaceful relationship and preferential trade with this country, rather than Orlais, since they are skilled at war and Orlais might seek to turn them against us for its own advantage.”

Elissa nodded, unsure where this was headed. “I think it’s a disgrace that Ferelden doesn’t have undisputed control of the Frostbacks, though,” she said darkly. “They shouldn’t be Orlesian territory.”

“You would be in agreement with your father and Teyrn Loghain, then,” Eleanor said lightly. “But I digress.” She set the volume on her lap. “I asked our traders to keep an eye out for certain... lore.”

Elissa’s heart suddenly began to thump as her mind leaped to a guess. “Is that book about—” she began to say.

Eleanor smiled. “This was traded by the Red Lion Hold in exchange for a large shipment of food and medicinal lore that they did not have. It is indeed ranger lore.”

Elissa accepted the heavy volume, awed by it. She opened the volume carefully and examined the pages. Fading illustrations and diagrams adorned the pages, and the text was written in an archaic form of the King’s Tongue but was still comprehensible. “This is wonderful,” Elissa said, staring at a diagram of a bear. “And to be sure, the Avvar... if this is something that they teach too, they will still be able? The trader did not demand it by force, did he?”

Eleanor smiled, pleased with her daughter’s thoughtfulness. “He would not have made it here alive if he had, dear. No, the Avvar have this lore, but they pass it down to youths who have the talent through their own trainers in their own way. It’s not quite clear why this clan even had the tome, though they must have traded for it themselves long ago. Look at the spine.”

Elissa did so and observed that the leather was stamped with a sigil very like the seal of her mother’s family’s bannorn. That relieved her. “That is good to know indeed,” she said with a wry smile. “I don’t want to deprive them of their knowledge, but I also don’t want to make enemies of them!”

Eleanor laughed. “That is wise of you!” She rose from her seat, patting Elissa on the shoulder as she departed the room. “Ask Master Aldous or me if you need anything translated to modern usage—and best of luck!”

* * *

After that, Elissa set aside more time studying the lore of the ranger. One thing that the book made very clear was that the ability was based on a close connection to the earth rather than the Fade, and indeed even dwarves, with no Fade connection, could have it for creatures of the underground. The tome discussed not just how to _find_ animals instinctively, but how to draw animals to oneself and how to bond with a specific creature.

The latter parts of the book shifted away from ranging and spoke of lycanthropy and shape-shifting. She found these parts interesting but not applicable to her. Lycanthropy required magic, for one—a spell to transform a person into a werewolf, or a wolf that became possessed by an angry spirit that then spread the condition through its bite. More often it was the latter. The Avvar dealt with Fade spirits, which went wrong sometimes, leading to plagues of werewolves and other types of possessed, curiously human-like animals in the past. But those who already had the ranging talent for wolves seemed better able to control their behavior if infected, as well as providing a calming influence to others who bore the curse—or at least, that had been the case in barbarian times. Fereldan legends were filled with accounts of werewolves troubling the Alamarri, and the hero Dane supposedly lived as a werewolf himself for a time, troubling no one. He was said to have been a ranger.

Being a ranger posed no special risk, the tome made clear, to Elissa’s relief. There were no accounts of  _people_ possessing animals or transforming into them under their own power, except for mages who could shape-shift, and in that case, they only shape-shifted into ordinary beasts rather than were-creatures and could change back at will. That, too, was different from being a ranger; the mage became an animal rather than bonding with one. But that was all in the past, Elissa thought, and was interesting only as history. There had not been any werewolves to plague the land in a long time, and mages shape-shifting into animals was unheard of now.

As winter turned into spring, she began to venture into the woods again, hoping to find “her” wolf—and hoping that it would be a great forest wolf, the largest and most imposing variety in Ferelden. The tome insisted that to develop a bond that came from the earth, it was necessary to spend a great deal of time in nature. There were also certain plants, which were still ground up and mixed into medicines, that were said to enhance one’s bond to the earth and to one’s spirit animal when consumed, but only in their natural, unprocessed form. Elissa was uneasy about that at first; she did not want to take anything that would make her hallucinate or otherwise affect her mind. Finally, though, after asking some subtle questions of the family Healer, she worked up the courage to do it. Elissa soon found herself able to “summon” a few ordinary wolves.

It was a happy day when she had that pack trailing behind her as if she were their alpha—and she released them joyously, to continue to roam free, as she returned home that evening in late spring.

* * *

_Summerday Dragon 9:22._

The annual tourney was concluded. Elissa had again placed in the archery competition and had again been kept from entering the melee with her daggers, though with an additional year of experience, she had the wisdom and maturity to see that it would still be a few years before she stood a real chance of fighting well in that format. It was useful to watch the fighters, though.

To her dismay, no one from the Waking Sea Bannorn attended the Coastlands tourney at all. Apparently the only one who could have competed, Irminric, was now in the midst of Templar training and could not step away from that. Alfstanna could fight, but she was now the heiress of the bannorn, and she was not quite as good as Elissa herself in archery or combat.

Elissa missed her... but then, after the festivities ended and the competitors were back in Highever Castle’s grand hall, she unexpectedly found herself facing someone about whom she had nearly forgotten in the midst of studying to be a ranger: Siobhan Dedrick, the squire from Crestwood.

Elissa’s heart suddenly soared. “I saw you in the tourney!” she exclaimed as the young blonde approached her, smiling. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you, hasn’t it—but I’ve had a lot to think about and do.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt a faint flush creep up her cheeks. _Why did I say that?_ she thought, flustered. _I spoke to her once a year ago. Why did I address her as if we are long-lost friends? What will she think?_

But the young squire merely smiled back, though her smile was sad. “I heard about Bann Eremon,” she said. “His daughter is your friend, right?”

Elissa nodded. “It’s very sad. And actually, I haven’t seen much of Alfstanna since the family received the news... but I’ve been... training. Over the winter and spring,” she said. Suddenly she was not sure that she wanted to talk about being a ranger. The bad experience with Tommy Howe a couple of years ago was still clear in her memory, and although she hoped that Siobhan would not react in a similar way, it was best to get to know her better first.

“So have I,” Siobhan agreed. “My mother thinks I can be knighted in a year or two.”

“Great!” Elissa approved.

“You’re pursuing knighthood too, then?”

“I am not sure,” said Elissa. “I fight with daggers and wear light or medium armor.” She stole a quick glance at the statuesque figure of the freckled blonde. “I know I could still become a knight and join the royal army as an officer, but my fighting style.... I just want to keep my options open for now.”

Siobhan considered. “It is a very structured way of life. There are hedge knights, who don’t serve any particular lord, but they tend to live rough. And scrappy fighters like you in the army... well, _you_ know how it is better than I.”

“Aim to kill—or grievously wound—and be extremely fast in doing so, else be targeted and taken out yourself,” Elissa said darkly. “And it’s virtually impossible to avoid being wounded in close combat when there are a lot of people fighting. You just want to be well-armored and fast enough that you see a lethal attack coming and can dodge it. When you must wear leathers or light chain mail, it’s a difficult balance.”

“You might look into splint mail,” Siobhan suggested. “Depending on what it is made of, it might be lighter. All those little rings—the weight adds up when you need thousands of them. But splint mail can be just as protective, and lighter. I’m not sure if it is flexible enough for your fighting style, but maybe if the splints were cut thinly enough, it could be.”

Elissa liked that idea. “Thank you! That might be just the thing.” She smiled at Siobhan. “But I expect if I ever fight in melee—in a real setting, that is, not tourneys—I will need a Healer on hand to patch me up. The idea, of course, is to minimize that need while still being fast and agile.”

Siobhan’s face grew pinched for a moment as Elissa mentioned Healers, but it passed quickly before Elissa could inquire. “Right. But there are knights who serve as scouts too. Leaders of small bands who patrol the countryside. They would have the element of surprise if they encountered bandits or whatnot.”

Elissa considered that. It was an interesting prospect, and one she had not contemplated before. It also seemed like work that would align well with being able to call upon wolves....

“I do like spending time in the countryside,” she said. That was putting it mildly, but she still did not want to confide exactly why she felt so. There was something about that pinched expression when she had mentioned Healing....

Siobhan smiled, and it was genuine this time, banishing worrisome thoughts from Elissa’s mind. “You could visit me in Crestwood. We have a lot of countryside. I spend time there too when my mother hasn’t need of me.”

Elissa’s eyes widened. That was fast. In a matter of a few minutes, she had garnered an invitation to the home of a girl she hadn’t seen in a year, a girl who was the daughter of a knight. It was a bold move to invite a teyrn’s daughter, and Elissa did not set that consideration aside. Siobhan wanted her company enough to break social mores in inviting her. _This is significant,_ she thought excitedly. “I will need to ask my parents,” she said, “but they have never objected to my visiting Alfstanna or any other friends. I’m sure they will have no objection to your family or Caer Bronach.”

* * *

The Couslands had no objection at all to Elissa’s visit to Caer Bronach, and a few weeks later, Elissa accompanied a pair of Cousland servants and a guard, riding on horseback to Crestwood.

As she approached the area, she grew surprised at how rustic it was compared to Highever and Amaranthine. The houses in Crestwood were mostly round thatched-roof cottages, unlike the carpentered and slate- or tin-roofed homes of the wealthier towns. There were no roads, just trails that sometimes had cobblestones packed into the ground and sometimes did not. Chickens, pigs, and the occasional dairy cow or mule grazed or picked at food. The village of Crestwood itself was quite small, with only a few dozen structures, and the keep of Caer Bronach was less refined than Highever Castle. It was clear that this was built as a defensive fortress and had only been adapted into being someone’s home after the Orlesian Occupation was ended, unlike the castle that had been the estate of the Couslands for ages.

Elissa loved it all. Her ranger sense was prickling in her brain whenever she gazed at the wood and mountains nearby, and something about the rustic, simple village and weathered castle appealed to a deep part of her soul. It would be very pleasant indeed to be inside the keep as a gentle summer rain—or even a summer thunderstorm—battered the walls, as rains so often did along the aptly named Storm Coast. _And with her nearby—_ Elissa’s active mind rapidly took that path, imagining curling up under furs, Highever weave, or even just simple cotton, with Siobhan close by, the rain drenching the outer walls of the castle in a steady rhythmic patter....

“Well met,” said a familiar voice as Elissa dismounted her horse. Siobhan was standing beside her mother, Ser Edith, and a man whom Elissa did not know. “Lady Elissa, my parents, Ser Edith and Gregory Dedrick. My mother is a knight and rules Caer Bronach; my father is the mayor of Crestwood Village.” She turned to her parents and then introduced Elissa.

“It is an honor to have you here, visiting us,” Ser Edith said, ushering Elissa inside as the Cousland servants handled her horse and baggage. “A great honor. Crestwood is, as you have seen, not Highever. It is but a quaint little village, but it is our home.”

“It’s great!” Elissa said, meaning it and grinning as she spoke. “I like what I saw of Crestwood so far and can hardly wait to see more of it— _and_ the keep.”

Ser Edith smiled wryly. “I suppose you must be like your lady mother.”

_In more ways than you know,_ she thought.

Mayor Dedrick cleared his throat. “The village of Crestwood obtains its wealth, such as it is, from trade. We also have caves that produce assorted minerals, but not enough to export as a regular source of income.”

“No one should visit the caves right now,” Ser Edith spoke up. “We had a very wet spring, some spillage from the lake, and they are unsafe. Some of the ladders and lifts down into those caves are not sound anymore either, I suspect.”

“That’s unfortunate, but so it is,” Elissa agreed. “But don’t worry, Ser Edith—there are other things I look forward to seeing here too!”

* * *

Elissa had a good time the rest of the day seeing Caer Bronach and Crestwood, then eating dinner with the Dedrick family and—to her surprise—most of their staff in the dining hall. As she pulled apart the roast beef set on her plate, she recalled that she had not seen a private dining area in the castle for the family, as Highever had. _I should have expected this,_ she thought, _and not been surprised. I hope they did not see the surprise in my face! I don’t mind this. It’s interesting, and kind of fun, really. It’s nice to have everyone here in this big hall. I just didn’t expect it._

That evening, she had a guest room to herself, which was fine. There would be plenty of time to forge a friendship with Siobhan over the summer. The room was simple but clean, and as she bedded down for the night, feeling sleep strike her suddenly—she really was  _very_ tired from the journey, after all—she decided that it was going to be a good summer indeed.

* * *

The next day, she and Siobhan decided to head into the rocky, hilly woods. Elissa hoped to call up some wolves, but if not, at least she would be doing something that she enjoyed while making a new friend. She also hoped to at least broach the subject of girls liking girls instead of boys, as she suspected that Siobhan might be like her in that respect.

_I thought that about Alfstanna too,_ Elissa thought darkly as she tramped through the woods beside the tall blonde squire. But somehow this felt different. With Alfstanna, Elissa had the hindsight to see that her belief was based on hope rather than evidence and on misreading signals actually meant for her brother. She now realized that Alfstanna had never acted flirtatious or awkward while only around  _her;_ it had always happened with Fergus present _._ It was different now. Siobhan had not even sent any signals while there was a doubt about who their intended recipient might be.

In any case, Elissa at least hoped to bring up the topic with someone. It was hard to say exactly how she knew, but she had a very strong feeling that Siobhan was the sort of girl who would openly discuss unusual, potentially embarrassing topics. Alfstanna might become that someday—indeed, probably _would,_ now that she knew she had to rule a bannorn in a few years—but during the height of her friendship with Elissa, she had not shown that trait. There was a sort of rugged brazenness to Siobhan that Elissa liked and found very hopeful.

The opportunity for personal talk arose soon after Elissa felt herself cramping, not from walking, but from something else. When she felt dampness in her smalls, she knew without a doubt—and it exasperated her.

“Excuse me,” she muttered, breaking away from Siobhan to go behind a tree. Scowling, she rummaged through her pack, looking for a clean rag and not finding one.

“Damn!” she cursed. At fourteen, she was still not quite comfortable swearing openly in front of her parents, but Fergus didn’t care, and she doubted Siobhan would either if she heard. A dark laugh told her that she was correct.

The blonde sidled up. “That time?” she said.

Elissa nodded, glowering. “I’m cramping and I don’t have any rags. I’m afraid I’ll have to go back to Caer Bronach to attend to this.” She scowled at nothing in particular as a surge of pain rocked her abdomen.

“No, you won’t,” Siobhan said. “I keep extras with me when I go out. Here.” She went through her own pack, finding a rag and passing it to Elissa. “Oh, don’t worry about hiding; I know what a girl’s body looks like. Unless _you’re_ modest, that is.” She gazed speculatively at Elissa and grinned. “I won’t peek. Unless you want me to.”

Elissa gaped at her. It was a strange context, to be sure, but she was certain that that was flirting. “Uh... right then,” she said. “Close them, though.”

Siobhan chuckled, closing her eyes, as Elissa cleaned her smalls as well as she could and stuffed the spare rag into them. “All right, you can open now,” she said.

Siobhan’s eyes opened again as she smiled knowingly. “As for the cramps... how have you managed them before? You don’t just... suffer through them, do you?”

“No. Healer Nessa, who serves my family, always provided a potion that relieved the pain. I don’t know how to make it, though—what she put into it or if she used a spell as well.”

Siobhan scowled. “Healers,” she muttered. “Crestwood—Caer Bronach—doesn’t have one. That’s a shame that the one who serves your family never taught you how. I think all women need to know how to do these things.”

“You’re probably right,” Elissa admitted. “You do know, I take it?”

“I don’t know if these are the same ingredients as your potion, but they work for me, and they’re readily available in most forests in Ferelden. There is the bark of a certain tree that is an excellent pain reliever. Let me show you....”

Elissa hurried to keep up with her as she headed through the woods, gathering up the ingredients that Siobhan pointed out. It took only a few minutes to find everything, and Elissa washed the bitter plant materials down with water from her canteen. In about twenty minutes, she was feeling better.

“It’s also useful to know which plants you can use for disposable rags,” Siobhan continued. “When you’re away from home, there might be times when you can’t stop and wash the laundry in a creek—and of course, you can’t very well carry blood-soaked bandages around.”

Elissa groaned and started to laugh at that terrible image. “The smell!” she exclaimed.

“Exactly,” Siobhan said with a wry grin. “But fortunately, you can make your own....” She began a description of how to do this, and by the time they were ready to head back to the village, Elissa felt as if she had known this girl for years already.

_My suspicion that she would freely canvass any subject seems to have been right so far,_ she thought happily.  _The only woman who has been willing to talk freely about this so far has been Mother. This is excellent—and who knows what other intimate topics she will be happy discussing?_

* * *

Over the next several days, Elissa grew more comfortable with Siobhan. The girls trekked through the woods and up the hills frequently, often bringing back a kill that Elissa had shot. Siobhan, for all her skill with sword and shield, was not a particularly good aim with a bow.

She was indeed a different type of girl than Alfstanna, despite being similar in age. Elissa reflected on that. _She_ was younger than both Alfstanna and Siobhan, but with Alfstanna, it had often felt to her as if she were the older one, because her friend allowed her to take the lead so often. That would likely change. It would have to change—but Elissa would not be close to her to watch it. Instead, she was seeing a friendship rapidly develop with someone who was also older than she, and just as bold and aggressive as she was—more in some ways.

She was not sure exactly what she thought about that. For now, it was good to be spending time with someone who was confident and experienced with the outside world beyond the rarefied air of a teyrn’s keep—even if this friend did live in a castle herself. Siobhan could sometimes be a bit overbearing, a bit too proud of the fact that she lived in a hardscrabble place in a poorer keep, and her apparent dislike for Healers—or for magic—was a mystery to Elissa that Siobhan did not seem to want to discuss and Elissa did not have the courage to ask about yet. But Elissa was glad enough of the real and useful knowledge that Siobhan was imparting, and was becoming aware of the fact that she herself had lived a cloistered, pampered lifestyle compared to most Fereldans, so Siobhan’s occasional imperious moments did not unduly annoy Elissa.

She was not sure if it would remain that way between them as she grew up and the age gap of not quite two years did not seem as large with time and life experience. She was rather assertive herself, and had similar tastes to Siobhan, and she wondered sometimes if they might be a little  _too_ alike and that this might pose a problem once she was older.

But for now, there was nothing to concern herself over. They were friends, and growing closer by the day.

* * *

The summer advanced, with Elissa enjoying every minute of it and becoming increasingly closer to Siobhan. At one point, she realized that she had barely thought about Alfstanna at all. It made her sad... but she supposed, with wisdom that was unusual for her age, that sometimes youthful friendships subsided as the friends grew up. Some relationships lasted and others did not. She hoped that Alfstanna was forming lots of good memories with her dying father and learning what she needed to know about being a bann.

The friendship with Siobhan had flowered, and Elissa no longer kept to her own room in Caer Bronach every night. Sometimes the girls shared Siobhan’s room instead—though they did not cuddle. Elissa wondered about that. She doubted herself and her own perceptions after the first “sleepover” when it did not naturally occur; flashbacks of her misinterpretation of Alfstanna came back to her. _Is it that she doesn’t want to cuddle with me?_ Elissa thought after that occurrence. _Doesn’t want to—or doesn’t have it occur to her? As was the case with Alfstanna?_

 _Or is it that she_ is _interested but has refrained from it out of apprehension of what else it might ignite?_ That idea occurred to Elissa after the second time they slept in Siobhan’s room, and once it did, it would not leave her either.

Elissa was to return to Highever with the onset of autumn. As summer drew to its close and she realized that she regarded Siobhan as a friend as close as Alfstanna had ever been, she also realized that she had not yet managed to discuss a very important subject with her: girls who liked girls.

She was uneasy about it. Alfstanna had not even considered the possibility that Elissa might have fancied her. In all her life, she had not known anyone else like herself, nor had she heard or read anything about the topic. The odds did seem against Siobhan being like Elissa... but somehow, she knew—she _knew—_ that those odds were different in this case. There was something about this girl....

_I’ll ask her,_ Elissa decided a week before she was set to leave.  _I need to know. She has never shied away from any intimate, personal topic before—except magic and Healers—so surely she won’t mind this one even if she isn’t like me._

_But I think she might be._

* * *

Elissa resolved on it her last day in Crestwood, while she had her courage. After breakfast, once the two were alone in a training room of Caer Bronach getting ready to spar one last time that summer, she squared herself up.

“Before we begin... could I ask you something? Something personal? It’s troubled me for a long time, and I wanted to talk about it with you.”

Siobhan set down the greaves that she was contemplating and turned to Elissa. She seemed tense all of a sudden, almost as if she knew. “Go on.”

Elissa took a breath. “First of all, if I’m mistaken—if this is not you—then please know that I did not mean any offense by it. But... the fact is, I’ve known for a while, a number of years, that I am... different... and I thought you might perhaps be different in this same way as well.”

Siobhan gazed intensely at her, tension unmistakable in her eyes. “What way do you mean?”

_Just say it,_ Elissa thought.  _No hedging, no dithering._ “I like other girls,” she said. It felt liberating to just  _say_ it at last to another person, to have it out, no longer a secret—and with that, she felt emboldened to elaborate. “I always have. I’ve never fancied a boy and at this point I don’t think I ever will. I don’t find boys’ bodies... appealing, if you know what I mean, but I do find girls’ bodies so. I know it is unusual... but... have you ever heard of it? Anyone else? Or—are you,  _yourself—”_

Siobhan held up a hand, a gentle smile forming on her face, though the unease had not evaporated from her gaze. “Elissa,” she said. “Of course I am. And you know it, don’t you?”

Massively relieved despite her friend’s continued unease, Elissa burst out with a happy laugh. “I certainly  _guessed_ it! I’m glad it wasn’t imagination.”

Siobhan chuckled and sat down on a bench. “I thought so about you too. I wonder if perhaps the Maker gave us a gift to pick each other out, since there are so few of us.”

Elissa laughed wryly. “Then I wish He had made mine a bit more accurate. I guessed wrong about another friend.” She smiled at Siobhan. “This is a relief, though. I never knew anyone else. I wondered at times if there might be something wrong with me.”

The squire shook her head. “I’ve known a couple of other girls like us too. Well, one liked girls  _and_ boys, but most girls like boys alone.”

“That seems to be true,” Elissa sighed.

“So we are unusual, but there is nothing wrong with us. _Trust_ me.”

Elissa wondered about that. Was Siobhan hinting that she had been intimate with a couple of other girls, and that was how she knew there were others? The idea seemed, if Elissa was honest with herself,  _enticing. Someone who knows about this and knows what she is doing...._

She tried cast that out of her thoughts at once before it overtook her, but she could not quite succeed. “I think you are attractive,” she confessed.

The muscled, freckled blonde smiled. “And I think you are too. You’re my type—brown hair and blue-grey eyes, toned but wiry.”

Elissa was flushing at this vivid description of herself.

“But—”

“Don’t say ‘but,’” she objected.

Siobhan sighed. “You are a teyrn’s daughter, Elissa.”

Elissa glowered. “I don’t have to marry a man and I won’t. I don’t think they would, but if my parents ever tried to arrange anything, I’d just...  _leave._ Join the army. Do something.” She scowled at her lap for a moment before meeting Siobhan’s eyes again. “Fergus is the heir anyway. You don’t have any siblings. How is this not a concern for you more than for me?”

“My parents won’t force me to marry either,” Siobhan said. “They... well, I won’t go into it. You must have noticed over the course of the summer that they don’t get on.”

Elissa reflected on that. It was true enough; the knight and the mayor did not share a bedroom, and she overheard bits of arguments that she knew were not meant for her ears. She had not dared ask Siobhan about it, but now,  _Siobhan_ was mentioning it. “They don’t fight over you, do they?” she said.

“They’ll fight about anything. Their problems go deeper, but my father is disappointed that I am attracted to girls. And I have no siblings for a reason. My mother cannot have any more children. My father is bitter about a lot of family things... but my mother rules the keep. She is the landed knight. He’s just the village mayor. It’s her decision.”

“I am sorry that your parents don’t get on, though I’m glad they aren’t going to force you to marry,” Elissa said. “My parents have never talked about that either, and if they did, I wouldn’t stand for it. It’s all right, Siobhan. I’ll just _tell_ them I like girls if it ever comes to that. My mother has always supported me when I wanted to do ‘unladylike’ things.”

Siobhan sighed. “I believe you. I just don’t want you to have a bad relationship with your parents. Family discord is terrible.”

“I won’t,” Elissa said sincerely.

Finally, Siobhan managed a smile. She leaned forward and gave Elissa a tender, gentle kiss on her cheek. “Then we’ll be seeing more of each other. Let’s not jump in at once. You are returning to Highever. Better to think it over.” She gazed past Elissa. “I have been with other girls—”

_Aha!_ Elissa thought.  _I knew it!_

“—but I was not friends with either of them first. It was strictly attraction. I don’t want this to come between our friendship. Think about it.”

“I will,” Elissa managed. Her heart was fluttering too rapidly right now for her to think too hard about her friend’s words.

_I am not alone in the world!_ she exulted in her thoughts. _There are other women like me and it is quite natural. I’m not alone!_

* * *

_Dragon 9:23._

Elissa and Siobhan visited during the autumn and winter, though Siobhan had to be in Crestwood a lot to squire for her mother and assist with administrative duties. The girls did not bring up their possible relationship again, though Elissa knew that it was on Siobhan’s mind as well as her own. She also wondered if Siobhan, being about two years older than she, might yet think Elissa too young, and wanted to wait until her friend had a year or two on her. The age gap itself would never disappear, but the significance of it would.

It was spring again when an epochal event happened in Elissa’s life.

She had read the ranger tome from front to back several times and had tried to summon a wolf with whom she felt a bond. The book did not explicitly say as much, but Elissa suspected that it was similar to the way that a mabari imprinted on its master and no one could force it to happen for a specific dog. It was not _identical—_ the tome was clear that there were no known mages who had the ranger talent, but mabari had been known to bond with mages, so it could not be the same—but it was similar, surely. That meant that Elissa just had not encountered the right wolf.

That all changed one bright spring day when she was sitting on a rock near the cliffs, not even hunting, just enjoying nature and trying to feel attuned to it as the ranger tome described. She had even chewed on some leaves to do that.

Suddenly, deep within her mind and soul, she felt a tug.

_That’s important,_ she thought at once, getting to her feet. It might seem irrational, a figment of her imagination, but in this moment, she knew it wasn’t.

Elissa tramped through the woods, following her instinct, as she often did. The tugging grew stronger, and as she advanced into the thickets, it took shape: a lupine shape.

_Small,_ Elissa thought in an oddly detached way as she pulled a thorny vine back.  _She is small and needs help._ How she knew that the wolf was a female, Elissa could not have said, but she was certain that it was so.  _Her mother is... gone. Her mother is not with her...._

Elissa’s sense of  _presence_ grew stronger still as she reached a small den. The scent of blood assaulted her nostrils, and her hands found their way to her mouth at once as she took in the sight before her.

Before her lay a dead wolf, an arrow in its neck, greenish-black fluid oozing from the death wound.  _Poison,_ she thought angrily.  _Someone shot a poisoned arrow!_ In anger, she yanked out the barb and flung it away.

The creature was no normal wolf. It was nearly the size of a small horse.  _This is a great forest wolf,_ Elissa thought—but it was not this wolf whose presence, whose call, she had felt. She bent down and picked up the other wolf in the clearing, a pup the size of an ordinary wolf pup, but one whose coloring instantly marked it— _her—_ as the offspring of the dead wolf. Someday this pup would be as large as her mother.

“I’ll be your mum now,” Elissa said quietly to the wolf as she held it close.

* * *

“Killing wolves? In my woods?” Bryce said angrily. “What did the arrow look like to you, Elissa? Dalish or human-made?”

Elissa considered it as the wolf pup nuzzled her feet. “Human-made,” she decided. “I could lead you to the place again, I expect.”

The Teyrn cursed. “If it is that wretched son of Rendon’s again....”

“Tommy Howe? He’s killed animals on our lands before?”

“During our First Day party, I caught him talking with that vile Vaughan Kendells about it. He insisted he’d never actually done it.” Bryce gazed at the wolf pup. “Take care of that little one. If she really is a direwolf, she’ll grow quite large, and it will be crucial for her to regard _you_ as her alpha, her leader. Once you let a big, strong animal do as it likes, it’s hard to change that.”

Eleanor spoke up, her tone gentler than her husband’s. “What do you think you’ll name her, Elissa?”

“I don’t know,” Elissa said. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Eleanor considered. “‘Faolin’ means ‘wolf’ in the old tongue,” she said.

Elissa approved. “Faolin it is, then,” she agreed. The wolf pup looked up and gave a high-pitched bark.

* * *

_Crestwood, summer Dragon 9:23._

Elissa was spending another summer at Caer Bronach, and this time, Faolin accompanied her. The wolf was growing fast and was already larger than an ordinary wolf would be at this age. Siobhan noticed.

“That’s a great wolf of the forest,” she said.

Elissa nodded. “Her mother was dead when I found her.” She knew that she should tell Siobhan about being a ranger, about  _how_ she had found the wolf, but Siobhan’s apparent distrust of magic made her uncomfortable doing so. Even though ranging was not magic, Tommy Howe had once had the same reaction to it that he would to a mage, and someone who already disliked magic might have a similar reaction.

“It’s different, to be sure,” Siobhan said, gingerly petting Faolin’s snout. “This kind of wolf is rare... and of course, most people who bond with dogs have mabari. Not that a wolf is a dog, of course, but... they’re similar.”

“I might bond with a mabari too someday,” Elissa said. She did not see any reason why she couldn’t; she had already concluded that the bond between a mabari and its master was different from ranging, so why not? But she was patient. If it happened, it happened. For now she had this wolf.

“She’s... controlled? She won’t attack unprovoked?”

“I’m training her,” Elissa said. “She’s safe around us.”

Siobhan considered. “If you say so.”

“Why? Your parents don’t object to her being in Caer Bronach.” That was true; the Dedricks had raised no fuss when Elissa brought her wolf.

“Oh, there was actually another place I wanted you to see,” said the squire. A grin formed on her face. “You know the dam on the lake?”

“Yes,” Elissa said slowly.

“There’s a tavern on it. We didn’t go there last summer, but I’d like to take you there this time. They allow mabari... but I don’t know about a wolf.”

Elissa shrugged. “If they don’t, I’ll tell her to stay in the keep. She obeys.”

The wolf looked up and barked in agreement. Siobhan chuckled. “I guess there we have it, then.”

* * *

The wolf did stay at Caer Bronach as the girls headed down the dam to the Rusted Horn, the tavern. It was a stone-and-wood structure with bearskin rugs, a rustic interior, and large barrels of ale along the walls. Siobhan and Elissa took a table in an isolated corner. Elissa had ordered ale, but Siobhan had a bottle of grain whiskey in front of her. Elissa wondered at her lack of a glass for it—until Siobhan took a pull directly from the bottle, set it down hard, and wiped her mouth.

Elissa gaped at her. “How can you do that?” she exclaimed. “Is that just not as strong as it looks?”

“Try it.”

Elissa gingerly picked up the bottle and sipped. Her eyes widened. The liquor was good, but it was certainly not weak. She set the bottle down and gazed in surprise at her friend. “It seems strong to me.”

Siobhan picked up the bottle and took another swallow, this one fortunately not as big. “When I have a drink, I don’t want to sip. I don’t see the point. You might as well be drinking tea if you just want to sip.”

“You... _want_ to get drunk?”

Siobhan glowered at the table. “Elissa, why do you think I wanted to spend so much time in the woods last summer, and again now? Why do you think I wanted to come _here,_ to spend money, instead of us just helping ourselves to the stores in Caer Bronach?”

Elissa considered it for a moment as the answer occurred to her. “Your parents,” she said quietly.

Siobhan nodded. “It is bad between them and getting worse each year. Drink takes me away from that, however briefly.”

Elissa felt awful for her friend, and moreover, concerned. “I understand, and I see that it would,” she said, “but... you’re hurting yourself—or you will, in the long term.”

“I would hurt myself by staying in that keep, listening to it, and getting angry and hurt. It’s choosing one’s poison.”

“Couldn’t your parents separate if it’s that bad? It might even qualify them to escape their marriage entirely. Their marriage _was_ once fruitful, but the Divine can annul marriages for abuse or abandonment too.”

Siobhan glowered again. “This Divine is in the pocket of the Empire and doesn’t give a tinker’s damn about anything else. Did you hear what she did to Kirkwall two years ago?”

Elissa did know. The former Viscount of Kirkwall, Perrin Threnhold, had a dispute with Orlais and embargoed Orlesian trade, physically blocking Orlesian ships from entering the harbor. Divine Beatrix sent Templars to Kirkwall to force him to open the harbor, involving the Chantry in the business of the Empire. When the Viscount then had the Knight-Commander executed, his replacement, a Templar named Meredith Stannard, had had _him_ taken prisoner and tried by Grand Cleric Elthina of Kirkwall, as if his offenses had been against the faith. It was very troubling to the Couslands, as Highever was actually geographically closer to Kirkwall than to Amaranthine.

Elissa grimaced as she met Siobhan’s eyes with hers. Siobhan nodded pointedly and continued, “And anyway, annulments are usually only given to kings, princes... emperors. Not mere landed knights. I suppose my parents could separate, but my father loves being the mayor—and the townsfolk like him, too—and my mother owns Caer Bronach by right of blood. He would have to take a house in the village if they separated.” She took another swig of whiskey. “Maybe I should advise that... if I can work up the courage.”

“They should not conduct themselves so,” Elissa said emphatically. “It hurts them and it hurts you. No, don’t do that,” she objected as Siobhan made to take another sip of whiskey. “It does not make problems disappear. You just forget about them for a time.”

Siobhan scowled. “I know that. That is the point.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Elissa exclaimed. “Can’t I make you forget about them for a time, too?”

Siobhan set the bottle down and regarded Elissa with sudden slyness. “I don’t know; can you?”

Suddenly the atmosphere of their isolated table lifted. Taken by surprise, Elissa gaped at Siobhan for a moment as the import sank in. Then a sly grin of her own spread across her face. “I’d love to try.”

* * *

The afternoon turned to evening, and the girls chattered freely, their talk becoming increasingly flirtatious as time elapsed. Despite the ale in her system, and the whiskey in Siobhan’s, Elissa was certain that she and Siobhan knew full well what they were doing. Indeed, when she ordered baked fish to help soak up some of the alcohol—and to avoid having to take dinner at Caer Bronach—her tipsiness lessened even more, though her giddiness at what _else_ was happening increased.

Finally, when the sky was dark, the moon hung in the sky, and rough-speaking dam workers and traders began to enter the tavern, making the atmosphere increasingly raucous, Elissa decided that they should get out of the common room. She had other plans.

“Let’s go,” she murmured to Siobhan, taking her hand under the table. Siobhan looked to argue for a moment before remembering the direwolf at the keep. She nodded and got to her feet with Elissa. “We’ll go in through the guards’ entrance,” she said. “No need to encounter your parents at all, but whenever they start to ask, the guards can say that we came in that way.” Siobhan considered that, nodding again.

They stepped out of the tavern and hurried down the dam, pulling their cloaks over their heads to shadow their faces. The bank of the lake provided a blessed relief, and once they were away from the sounds of inebriated shouting, Elissa pulled Siobhan toward a large tree.

“You’re sure?” the squire said as they hid behind the immense trunk.

“I’m sure. And I’m _not_ tipsy at all. Are _you_ sure?”

Siobhan smirked. “I’ve been sure for a year. I wanted _you_ to be sure.”

“Am I old enough for you now, then?” Elissa drawled, pleased that her guess about that had been right.

Siobhan chuckled. “You’ve changed since I first met you, yes. You don’t look like a little girl anymore. It makes a difference.”

Elissa was aware of that. Although she was not particularly buxom—Siobhan _was,_ she noted—she had filled out since she had first noted her own interest in other girls three years ago, and much of it had occurred over the past year. “I’m glad that it makes me even more appealing to you,” she said saucily. “Now... you said you have been with other girls before. I have not. I’ve never even been kissed. Doesn’t that seem wrong to you?”

Siobhan gazed fiercely at Elissa for a couple of seconds, then—suddenly—pulled her forward, into a crushing embrace. Her hands, strangely delicate for a woman who fought with a sword, caressed the sides of Elissa’s face. “Very wrong,” she said, gazing hard into her face. She leaned in, closing her eyes, as Elissa did the same—and then their lips touched.

She still tasted a bit like whiskey, Elissa thought, but it was nice, maybe a little bitter for her taste, but just sweet enough. Feeling adventurous, and knowing just enough about kissing from what she had heard other young people say, she parted her lips to allow Siobhan to explore her mouth.

When the time seemed right, they drew apart gently, gazing at each other in the moonlight. “I guess there’s no going back from that,” Siobhan said.

“I don’t want to ‘go back.’” Her heart was fluttering.

Siobhan smiled. “Neither do I.”

They headed back to the keep, hand-in-hand, and passed through the guard entrance before going up a curving stone staircase to the level of Siobhan’s bedroom. Elissa’s heart began to pound. This was not going to be another night of talking, laughing, and then nodding off to sleep. One could not be pent-up for a full year without wanting to act on it at last....

They passed down the hallway into Siobhan’s room, in silent agreement about what to do. Elissa closed the heavy wooden door behind them and bolted it. Her heart pounding, she faced her friend as Siobhan sat down on her bed. The beds in Caer Bronach were all heavy rough-hewed wood with rag mattresses and coverings of simple, sturdy fabrics—or fur for the winter. It was very appealing.

“If you do not actually want to take this leap, say so and I’ll never speak of it again,” Siobhan said seriously.

Elissa stared at her intensely for a moment, her heartbeat seeming so loud to her that it almost drowned out Siobhan’s voice. “I do want to, though,” she managed.

The squire burst into a smirk.

“What exactly....” She reorganized her thoughts. “What did you and the other girls do?”

Siobhan smiled slyly. “Haven’t you ever touched yourself?”

“Well, yes,” Elissa said baldly. “Who hasn’t? I bet even priests do.”

A gleeful laugh burst from Siobhan. “I’d rather not think of that, though. My point is... I think it’s better when someone else does it. There is an element of _surprise._ You don’t know what’s coming—until _you_ come, of course.”

Elissa’s eyes popped at Siobhan’s double entendre.

“And also, you can’t do anything for yourself with your own mouth. Someone else can, though. It’s just as good—better, some might say.” She smiled wickedly at her. “I’ll show you how that’s done.”

Elissa began to approach the bed, unbuckling her leathers as she did. She pulled off the rest of her armor, revealing her underclothes, and sat down on the mattress beside Siobhan—who was also out of her armor by now. Elissa had seen her in regular clothing before, of course, but it was still striking to her to see this tough warrior girl in a vulnerable state. It was very appealing to her. Her body seemed to act of its own accord as they fell into each other’s arms.

They began by exchanging tender, gentle kisses, removing each other’s clothing in between, until both had revealed their bodies to each other except for their smallclothes. Siobhan eyed Elissa’s chest in anticipation and reached for her breastband. Elissa closed her eyes as it was unhooked and tossed aside, her breasts now exposed to the mercifully cooler night air. Then Siobhan reached for the article of clothing around Elissa’s hips.

“Oh, _fierce,”_ Siobhan said as Elissa twisted, surprising the squire with her litheness. “Damn, you _do_ fight this way by instinct. I’ll keep _that_ in mind!” Somehow, between the two of them, the last item of clothing came off. Elissa shivered, not from the temperature, as she was completely nude.

Elissa gazed at Siobhan’s body. Although both girls were muscled, Siobhan’s training with sword and shield had given her bigger ones, and she was more endowed in the chest than Elissa. But Siobhan sensed Elissa’s sudden awareness of this and instantly moved to comfort her.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmured, moving close. “Look at this.” She stroked Elissa’s flat abdomen. “Look at these.” She cupped Elissa’s breasts and ran the pads of her fingertips over her nipples. A shudder escaped from Elissa.

“I’ll take the lead,” she murmured, “and then... I’ll tell you what to do if you need me to.”

Part of Elissa wanted to protest and see what she could do first, but she saw the wisdom in these words. She lay back on the pillow and took a breath, trying to still her tension enough to enjoy this.

Siobhan wasted no time. In a moment, she was ministering to Elissa’s heated body, leaving a trail of light kisses and the ghosts of touches as she made her way down. Elissa could tell that the girl had experience in this, and it excited her.

“You’re a fighter and a horseback rider,” Siobhan murmured, her breath very close to Elissa’s pelvis, “which will make it easy for you... but I think I’m going to... kiss you there first... kiss and _lick....”_

Elissa groaned. “For the Maker’s sake, do it!”

A chuckle rose up from her lower body as Siobhan descended.

It was strange at first, a sensation unlike anything Elissa had ever experienced. Her fingers simply did not compare; this was softer, tenderer, and yet, just as pleasurable in its own way. Siobhan still had some whiskey on her tongue, which added a surprising tingle.

Elissa felt the waves of pleasure rise within her as the other girl lapped her up, clearly greatly enjoying this, and she had not even realized she had moved her arms until she found herself grasping locks of blonde hair and trying to keep her head in place. “Sorry,” she murmured, releasing Siobhan.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she replied. “Just—no harder than that, please.”

Elissa suppressed a chuckle as she re-positioned herself.

She did not last much longer than that, as a wave of pleasure different from anything she had been able to do for herself poured over her. Shuddering, she felt her friend—her lover, she thought—draw away from her, giving her a string of wet kisses up her body, reversing the direction of her motions at the start.

Elissa came back to herself to find the two of them cuddled close. “I... I don’t know if I can do that—yet,” she began, wanting to make her feel the sort of pleasure that she herself just had, “but... if you want me to... I _do_ think I know what to do with my hands.”

Siobhan smirked at her as she gave her a peck on the cheek. “You have plenty of time to learn. But yes—tonight, do as you will.”

They disentangled themselves with only a hint of reluctance, and Elissa rolled Siobhan onto her back, which the older girl helped along readily. She admired the musculature of her body—the freckles on her face extended down her arms and chest, Elissa noted—before descending upon her ample bosom, her lithe, dexterous hands ghosting a path down her abdomen toward the dark blonde mound. She kept her fingernails trimmed low, to make it easier to deal with her weaponry, and she was glad of it now.

It thrilled and delighted Elissa to find that her lover was just as ready for her as she had been herself. Her fingers moved smoothly down her lover’s core and slipped inside without any resistance at all—but she still remembered what she always needed to do when pleasing herself this way, and so she kept her thumb centered over the other girl’s most sensitive mound.

“That’s exactly right,” she whispered as Elissa began to work her.

Elissa attempted to respond to her motions and cues. She knew what she liked to do herself, and they did have the same kind of body—but of course, she suspected that different people might like slightly different things sometimes. Siobhan’s nipples seemed an especially sensitive spot for her as well, and Elissa tried to time her ministrations with her tongue in sync with the movements of her right hand. As she continued, and her lover’s breaths became faster, she felt glee and confidence suffuse her. _I can do this. I am good at this. And I’m only going to get better with time._

Finally the older girl shuddered beneath Elissa, her thighs closing around Elissa’s hand, keeping it in place, as tremors rocked her. She withdrew her hand only when Siobhan relaxed.

“Well,” the squire said, “There’s certainly no going back from _this.”_

_I don’t want to go back,_ Elissa thought again as they cuddled close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m only guessing about what circumstances are allowed for an annulment. Gaider apparently said once that the Chantry does annulments but not divorces. From the Cailan/Anora precedent, we can presume infertility and childlessness in a reproductive-age couple is one ground. I’m actually going to speculate that infidelity is _not_ a valid ground, though, based on how prevalent it is among the Orlesian nobility. Perhaps there is some cultural acceptance of it among that class, but I cannot believe that every noble in Orlais is just fine with being cheated on. A loveless arranged marriage, sure. But for those who did fall in love with their spouses, it’s hard for me to see.
> 
> The tone of the bit about Threnhold-Dumar-Meredith, etc., is colored by my own bias (if you’re familiar with my _DA2_ fics for this worldstate, you know I have, uh, strong views on this topic), but the _facts_ are what they are and I did not make them AU. Beatrix abused her power to help Orlais in secular disputes between nations.
> 
> This “prequel” bit about Elissa being very familiar with Crestwood (and having a personal interest in the place, even though she and Siobhan will end their relationship) will be quite important for Elissa’s character development later, once the Blight takes hold.


	4. Lone Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split this chapter and go ahead and post this. There are a lot of significant events happening in just this part, and also a couple of significant ones happening in the part that will now be chapter 5—but those emotional events are not closely related to the emotional events in this chapter. I decided it was better to split the chapter in two rather than having another 10,000-word beast with a fairly evident “part 1” and “part 2.” This has increased the expected size of the fic by one chapter and means there is still one more Elissa prequel (chapter 5) and one of Leliana (chapter 6) before game content begins. Chapter 5 is mostly written already and will go up in a couple of days. I will post a boldface warning on it, but I’m going to go ahead and say to... prepare yourselves for something bad and something potentially triggering.
> 
> There are some time jumps in this chapter for events that I need to show happened, but that I don’t want to spend an excessive amount of time on.

That summer was the most glorious one that Elissa had yet experienced.

After that evening, she gave up the pretense of using her bedroom at Caer Bronach. She moved her personal belongings into Siobhan’s, and Faolin the wolf settled herself in the room without being told. Elissa wondered a bit about that, but Siobhan reassured her.

“If you’re training her and she is bonded with you, that’s good enough for me,” the squire said one night after the two of them had just finished another intimate act and the wolf, seemingly aware that her mistress was no longer in need of privacy, pushed open the door and entered the room. “It’s not really that different from having a mabari. They use mabari hounds in war, after all.”

“Exactly,” Elissa agreed, relieved. “They’re dangerous too.” She paused as something amusing occurred to her. “My parents told me once about meeting an Orlesian ambassador in Denerim during a Landsmeet and the man brought a dog that a lot of people actually mistook for an excessively hairy nug!”

Siobhan laughed. “I’ve only seen pictures of nugs, but I have heard about what Orlesians do to their dogs with breeding.”

Elissa stretched out on Siobhan’s bed, noting with satisfaction that her gaze shifted to Elissa’s thigh and calf muscles as they flexed. “I’d honestly rather see an actual nug,” she said. “At least it is supposed to look that way. There are certainly different breeds of dogs... not every dog can be a mabari... but Orlesian nobles have, uh, very strange taste in their pets.”

“They breed for appearance, not strength or loyalty or intelligence.”

“They must.” Elissa reflected on the conversation, which had begun with Siobhan declaring her comfort with the direwolf. That was a relief, and it made Elissa think that perhaps she should confess about her ranger ability after all. It was not magic, after all, and what Siobhan seemed to have a problem with was magic, specifically healing magic.

Siobhan yawned then, trying in vain to cover it. Elissa followed suit. They chucked, then cuddled together as they tried to go to sleep.

_I’ll tell her when the time is right,_ she thought,  _and that should be a choice I make when I’m fully awake and alert. Not an impulse decision._

* * *

Towards the middle of summer, during a particularly hot and sticky day, they decided to venture into the caves at last for a respite from the heat. They went through the entrance from the village and descended the complex system of lifts and ladders.

Elissa’s eyes widened in fascination as the cool air brought blessed relief to them. Deposits of stormheart and other, less valuable minerals dotted the cave, and Elissa even saw a few gemstones. “Are the caves not mined?” she asked.

Siobhan shook her head. “There’s no crew. They’re small. They’d be picked clean in a month... unless you wanted to go to the old part. There’s treasure there, supposedly, but there are things lurking. Deepstalkers. Nasty creatures. They bite and spit poison.”

“Dwarven ruins,” Elissa said, remembering the day she had arrived in Crestwood last summer to hear about the caves. “Let’s check it out! I think we can handle any vermin.”

“Maker,” Siobhan swore. “My parents are not going to like this.”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them,” Elissa said with a shrug. “I’m not planning to tell mine.”

Siobhan gaped at her before bursting out with one more chuckle.

* * *

The lowest level of the caves—not properly a cave at all, in fact—was indeed dwarven. Elissa recognized it at once, having seen pictures of dwarven architecture in books. “Could this be the  _Deep Roads?”_ she said in awe.

“I... wonder,” Siobhan said, gazing around.

“The dwarves built the Deep Roads,” Elissa reasoned. “If this is dwarven-make, then since it is underground, it _has_ to be. Maker. We’re in the Deep Roads!” She gazed around at the hall, which was disappointingly empty of anything portable of value. There were heavy locked chests that she could not open, but that was it. “Dwarves have not lived here in a long time. This must be close enough to Orzammar... Crestwood is north of Lake Calenhad... and I think it had to have connected at some point. Yes,” she continued more confidently, remembering her knowledge from Tutor Aldous. “Long ago, all the Deep Roads connected, before the Blights destroyed most of the dwarven empire. But this was always close to Orzammar. There must have been a cave-in to cut it off... or something.”

“Or something,” Siobhan muttered darkly.

“There haven’t been any reports of _darkspawn_ in these caves, have there?” Elissa said, suddenly concerned, as she took in the import of her own words and Siobhan’s dark utterance.

“Not that I know of,” Siobhan said. “Just deepstalkers.” She gazed about uneasily. “We’re in the Deep Roads, but we’ve seen no—”

Echoes of shrill, bestial screeches sounded from the halls. Elissa felt a surge of adrenaline—not fear, but excitement, as she readied her arrows for the approaching deepstalker swarm.

* * *

“Let’s... not speak of that to anyone,” Elissa said once all the leathery, squirmy, overgrown bipedal lizards lay slain around them. The girls had minor bites on their exposed calves, and the alpha deepstalker had landed a gob of poisoned spit on Siobhan’s leather chest piece. She had worn leather for flexibility and because it was marginally cooler than plate, but the spit would have been easy to get off the plate—a simple wipe clean. She was diligently trying to scrub it off before it ate through the leather and she would have to account for it to her mother. Elissa was carefully treating their bites with balm.

“You don’t want to take a trophy?” Siobhan said, finally getting the poison off as she nodded at the dead alpha.

Elissa considered it. “We’ll have to keep it hidden... but all right, let’s split the hide of that thing.” She grinned at her. “A memento of our adventure in the Deep Roads!”

“And may we never need to return again,” Siobhan mumbled.

* * *

There were also many glorious nights in Caer Bronach. Elissa wanted to use her mouth on her lover and quickly developed the skill to do it. Barely a week after her first time, she was on Siobhan’s bed, the covers kicked to the foot of it, both girls sweaty and naked on the mattress as Elissa held her lover’s muscled thighs apart with her own strong arms and feasted upon her core as her lover trembled.

The whole time, Elissa felt awe at herself—well, when she was not focused on the intensity of the act itself and the sighs of pleasure she was bringing forth from Siobhan and the growing ache in her own core at the sight before her. She had, of course, tasted _herself_ before, in moments of curiosity in her own bed at Highever, so there was no surprise with that. She had never particularly thought it would be arousing to lick up the sweet stickiness of another girl or woman, but then, that was before she had ever fallen for one. Desire changed everything.

Siobhan shuddered as her legs tried to twist, but Elissa’s arms, increasingly strong from her training and from her gradual growth into an adult, held her firmly in place. Little cries that seemed completely incongruous with the warrior that Elissa knew escaped from her mouth—to her utmost satisfaction. _I am getting good at this,_ she thought idly for a second—

—Before Siobhan returned to herself and lunged for Elissa to heave her upward and satisfy the throb she felt herself.

* * *

Elissa noticed that Siobhan had more duties training with her mother in Caer Bronach as the summer advanced. She stayed in the keep on those days to fight as well, sending her wolf out to hunt if Faolin was restless. She would have preferred to explore, hunt, or even visit the Rusted Horn tavern, but training was also fun, even though she more often had to use a training dummy.

At the end of the summer, Siobhan’s mother, Ser Edith, had an important announcement to make. “I have concluded that you are ready to be knighted,” she said.

Siobhan’s face lit up like a beacon. Elissa beamed as well, delighted for her friend— _lover,_ she corrected herself at once, smiling at the thought.

“I am sworn to the teyrnir of Highever, of course, as you both know,” Ser Edith continued, “and I will need the approval of the Teyrn to petition the King for this—”

“Oh, I’m sure my father won’t object!” Elissa exclaimed. “He knows that your daughter and I are close!”

Ser Edith smiled tightly. “I appreciate that, my lady, but would not ask your lord father for a favor on the basis of that. Siobhan is ready to be knighted. If the Teyrn approves, then either he or I will notify King Maric. Either we will go to Denerim or, if he wishes, the King may come to the Coastlands.”

“I would like to see the knighting ceremony,” Elissa said.

“Of course! It may not be for some time, though.”

* * *

“Is this going to mean that we... well, won’t be able to spend as much time together?” Elissa asked Siobhan that night, suddenly worried.

Siobhan bit her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’m sure my mother will want me to take over some of her duties after I’m knighted. But you know there’s no reason you couldn’t be with me, and after all, it’s not as if we spend every waking hour together anyway! You could still hunt or explore, spend time with your wolf, whatever you liked, when I needed to work.”

“And someday perhaps I could live at Caer Bronach with you all the time,” Elissa said softly. Siobhan looked up, eyes wide, and Elissa’s heart began to pound. “Oh no—did I say too much?”

“No,” said the other girl. Siobhan leaned forward to kiss Elissa, holding her close. “I’m... I’m flattered—no, _honored._ That’s... I never really thought about having a female companion and lover _living with me.”_

Elissa nestled Siobhan into her arms. “I never thought of anything else,” she said. “My vague dream for a while was to live in one of the small manors or towerhouses that my parents own and take a ‘companion’ to live with me. But Caer Bronach is so much better than that.” She gazed at Siobhan. “You _will_ inherit it, right? I mean—not that I want you to lose your parents any time soon—but you won’t be turned out when that day comes, will you? There isn’t another heir?”

“I will inherit it, yes,” Siobhan said stiffly. “I am Mother’s heir and _my_ heir is a cousin. He is definitely after me.” Siobhan looked down, and Elissa felt bad about bringing this subject up. She was about to apologize and shift the subject back to the pleasanter one that had begun it when Siobhan spoke again.

“I apologize. This isn’t your fault, Elissa. It just cuts close to a hard subject.”

“Your parents’ difficulties,” Elissa guessed. “No, _I_ am sorry.”

Siobhan was silent for a minute, holding Elissa as Elissa held her back. She seemed to be coming to a decision about something. At last she spoke again.

“I should just tell you what their problem is about. Their main problem, the problem that started everything.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“I shouldn’t keep it from you any longer,” Siobhan said firmly.

Elissa felt bad about the fact that she still had not told Siobhan about being a ranger. She resolved to do so after this discussion. _Perhaps not immediately,_ she thought, _since this is about her and a painful subject for her. I won’t make it about myself. But later. Before she is knighted._

“My mother cannot have any more children, as I said once. She tried, though. When I was eight, she had a miscarriage.” Siobhan scowled. “You’ve seen me glowering about Healers.”

“I have,” Elissa ventured. “Did one of them harm your mother?”

“The village had one then. Father summoned him to the keep when Mother lost the baby. She was still bleeding. He healed her from the aftereffects of it, then opened her up and took out her female organs.”

Elissa gasped and covered her mouth.

“She didn’t ask him to. He sent her to sleep by magic and just _did it._ Claimed that women who miscarry shouldn’t get pregnant again and that it was ‘no great loss anyway’ because the organs weren’t ‘essential.’ Mother was angry and sad about it all. One day she was an expectant mother, and then a day later, she was mourning a loss and could never have another child again.”

“I’m sorry,” Elissa said quietly. She had no burning desire for children, having forced the idea of them out of her mind once she realized that she was not attracted to men. She liked children, but there was no point in getting attached to the idea of something that she could not have without a grotesque price. She wondered from time to time about adopting an orphan someday, but was not sure when she would ever have the time to raise such a child with the military or scouting career that she expected to have. However, Ser Edith _had_ wanted children and had been trying to have them before her life was upended.

“Father was furious. He wanted the man hanged, but Mother forbade it because he did heal her after the miscarriage, so he sent the mage away. I don’t think they’ve shared a bedroom since—and then when I grew up to like girls, Mother accepted that. She’s not going to make me marry. But Father is bitter about all of it. He wanted _his_ line to hold Caer Bronach.”

Elissa tried to take that in. She had not spent too much time with the elder Dedricks except at meals, and she  _had_ found Ser Edith’s company preferable to Mayor Gregory’s, but she had not known that Siobhan’s father harbored such ugly ideas and resentments. It greatly lessened the man in her own thoughts.

“Your father shouldn’t have blamed her,” Elissa said, more firmly than before. “This keep belongs to your mother’s blood. He decided that he was going to see her differently because _his_ blood wouldn’t hold it after you, and she wasn’t going to force the issue. Whether the Healer overreacted or not, your father was wrong to do that.”

Siobhan sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed them. Several seconds elapsed before she could speak again. “You’re right,” she said in a low voice, “but... the mage mutilated her. I also heard of Tevinter mages who try to  _change_ people like us, people who love the same sex. Mages, Healers especially, who study the body, muck about with people’s lives and feel nothing about doing it.”

Elissa gazed ahead. She had warmer feelings toward magic than Siobhan. Healer Nessa of Highever had always been good to her and had healed many of her injuries over the years. She also remembered the runaway mage boy who had wanted to see his own mother again and had not managed to do so. Her parents had told her about the mages who fought for Ferelden in the Rebellion. But Siobhan also appeared to have reasons for her views.

Finally she managed, “Healer Nessa has never done my family harm, and I always thought she cared about our well-being. There were also mages who fought beside Queen Rowan, Maric, and Loghain in the Rebellion. They can’t all be... like the one who harmed your mother. Perhaps a female Healer would have been more... more respectful, I suppose, of another woman.”

Siobhan had looked angry for a moment as Elissa spoke, but her anger dissipated by the end. She sighed. “Your own family Healer might be a fine person. I’m not speaking against her. But I cannot forgive the fact that that man mutilated my mother, denied me the chance to have any siblings, and that it ruined things between my parents.”

“And if he didn’t have to do the procedure, you _shouldn’t_ forgive,” she said quietly. “I still think your father was wrong to take it out on her and you—”

“Of course he was.”

“—but that doesn’t absolve that ‘Healer’ for being careless and permanently maiming a woman, altering her life, if the operation wasn’t necessary. Especially since he apparently showed no remorse when your mother woke up and became angry at him. I get it, Siobhan. I understand.”

Siobhan sighed again, rubbing her eyes. “I love my father,” she finally said. “I know he was wrong—is wrong—to think as he does, but he has never mistreated me, and he’s never raised a hand to my mother either. And not just because she’d cut it off with her sword if he tried!” she said, forcing out a joke. “It’s complicated. I know it sounds as if he’s greedy to have his blood take my mother’s keep, but it’s not as simple as that. The captain for whom the village is named, Crestwood, had no heirs of his blood.”

Elissa nodded, being aware of that from having read about the war.

“King Maric gave my mother’s father the keep for service in the war. It’s not like your family, owning Highever Castle for generations. But my father _is_ of old stock, going back before the town even had a name. His ancestors were servants and guards in the keep for a long time. He loves the town and he is a good mayor. I don’t get on with him, but I’ll grant that. He thinks he has a kind of right to have his blood rule the keep, and that it would be good for the line ruling the keep to be of the village _and_ the family that King Maric distinguished and raised.”

Elissa considered that. Although the man wasn’t a noble, this sort of reasoning was not actually different from the way nobles reasoned about these matters.

“So it’s hard for me—no, I _can’t_ hate my father, whatever wrong ideas he has,” Siobhan said. “But I can hate that mage for what he did to my mother.”

Elissa nodded, pulling Siobhan close. “And I don’t think you’re wrong to. He changed her life forever, permanently stopped her from doing something that she wanted to do in her life, and it sounds as if it was not necessary to save her, if she’d already been healed of the injuries from the miscarriage. I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t think your family Healer is a bad person if you say she isn’t,” Siobhan said as well. It seemed hard for her to get out. “If I ask you to trust what I say about people I know, I should do the same for you.”

Elissa fell silent as they held each other. _What now?_ she thought unhappily. _She has a very good reason to feel as she does. How can I feel comfortable telling her about being a ranger? It is a mystical ability. It isn’t magic, but it is the kind of thing people who don’t like magic would react badly to. When would be the right time to finally tell her?_

The night offered her no answer.

* * *

The knighting ceremony took place at Highever. King Maric arrived with only his personal staff and guard retinue with him; Teyrn Loghain and Prince Cailan were staying in Denerim. The king would return to Denerim after the ceremony and from there depart on a ship heading north to Wycome. Not everyone was pleased about this, the Couslands included, and their displeasure was evident to Maric.

“I say, Bryce,” the king said cheerfully, “perhaps you and your lady should come with me. You both look sour. It would do you some good!”

“I thank Your Majesty,” Bryce said tightly, “but we must stay at Highever.”

“I don’t see why,” objected Maric. “Your son—or your daughter, for that matter—could take over the management of the place. It would be good for them, probably. Live a little, my friend. I keep telling Loghain the same, for nigh fourteen years.”

Eleanor smiled, but it was not an accommodating one. “Fourteen years ago, you disappeared into the Deep Roads on a quest that you needn’t have been involved in, Your Majesty. Loghain had to save your life.”

“Maker!” Maric exclaimed, laughing. “You’re all just like him!” He turned to Bryce. “I understand you are going to Antiva next year to negotiate trade. Why not do it early, come along with me? I’m heading in the same direction.”

“The Crown of Antiva expects me next year,” Bryce said, “and I am only bringing Fergus along. My lady wife will be here to rule in my stead, and I will be leaving one of my children here. Who will rule for you, Maric? Who—Maker forbid—if anything happens to you, will take over? The prince is... said to be unready.”

“Loghain, of course,” Maric said, shrugging. “He’s teaching the lad. When it is time for Cailan to take the throne, he’ll be ready.” He paused, thinking, as a furrow wrinkled his forehead. “Though perhaps I should tell you....” He trailed off.

“Tell me what, sire?”

“Arl Eamon is....” Maric stole a quick glance at Elissa and Siobhan, who were very close, holding hands and listening to every word of the conversation. A stricken look passed over his face, as if remembering something from his own past, and he shook his head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t trouble you with it. No need. Let’s get this done, then!” he said in a booming voice, and the girls looked up at attention. “Young ladies... I will tell you, and Loghain would agree, that the best warrior I have ever known was my queen. Never let anyone tell you that you cannot fight!”

* * *

Siobhan knelt before the king. The Revered Mother of Highever stood in observance of the ceremony.

“Siobhan Dedrick, daughter of Ser Edith Dedrick of Caer Bronach, in the name of the Maker I charge you to be brave; to be just while yet holding the Sword of Mercy in your heart; to defend those who cannot defend themselves; and to obey your captain, your sworn liege, and your monarch. Do you so swear before the Maker and your king?”

“I so swear,” Siobhan said, eyes cast down, as the king’s sword touched one shoulder, then the other, in succession.

“Then in the name of Calenhad the Great, here in the sight of the Maker, I declare you a knight of Ferelden. Rise and serve your land, Ser Siobhan.”

Siobhan rose, beaming, as she accepted her sword from the king. Elissa burst into loud applause, her face feeling like it might split from the smile.

She hoped that someday this would be her future too.

* * *

The feast that followed was uproarious. Elissa sat next to Siobhan at the head table, with her parents and brother, Siobhan’s parents, and, of course, King Maric. As Siobhan— _Ser_ Siobhan, Elissa thought proudly—requested hard liquor, Elissa did not object this time. It was to celebrate, and Maker knew that she deserved to celebrate tonight. Elissa herself drank quite a lot of wine that evening, feeling happy and increasingly giddy from it.

_This is a good time to tell her about being a ranger,_ she thought. And when the feast was over and everyone had dispersed to their rooms in Highever, she and Siobhan heading to Elissa’s room, she decided to do just that. When Faolin, now a fully grown direwolf the size of a small pony, shuffled into the room to guard the door, she became utterly resolved.

“Siobhan,” she began once they were in their nightclothes and smalls, “I suppose you must have noticed that the bond I have with Faolin is... special.”

Siobhan gazed at Elissa with a smirk. “I hope you aren’t going to tell me that she is really a werewolf and you’ve fallen for her instead of me now.”

Elissa gaped at her, taken by surprise, before bursting out laughing. That was actually a very good beginning. Siobhan grinned, relaxing on a pillow. “No, it isn’t that,” she said once she could speak. “It’s... well, maybe I should have been clearer. It is not just about her. When I go into the woods and wolves follow me, it’s... it’s not because I call to them. I mean, I  _do,_ but not with words or a whistle or whatever.”

Siobhan’s grin faded. She sat upright. “What do you mean?”

Elissa became uneasy suddenly. “My mother told me about it. It’s a... gift. From her line,” she explained. “It’s called ‘ranging.’ It’s a bond with a particular type of animal, the ability to summon these animals....”

Siobhan was frowning. “But _how_ do you ‘summon’ them if it’s not by making their sounds? Is it by smell? You put bait out to draw them in?”

Elissa shook her head. “It’s... a bond. Through the earth,” she explained hurriedly, “not the Fade. It isn’t magic. It’s an ability that used to be prevalent in the Alamarri and which passed down through my mother’s line... It’s why she’s called the Seawolf.... She can’t do it, but her ancestors could....”

“But what do you _do?”_

“I... feel them,” Elissa said. “I feel their presence deep in my mind when they are near. Wolves and direwolves. I can... communicate with them through this means, I suppose.”

“You talk to them?” Siobhan was eyeing her with a look that Elissa did not like. “You talk to wolves through your head? What do you say to a wolf?”

“I don’t really tell them anything specific,” Elissa said. “The tome my mother found for me discusses that, to an extent, but only in combat... except for one’s bonded animal, which Faolin is.”

Siobhan’s eyes darted quickly to the direwolf, then back to Elissa. “I’m not afraid of her,” she said, “because she acts like a mabari. But... you are telling me that when you have wolf packs following you in the woods, the only commands that they would understand are ‘attack’ and ‘kill’?”

“I... guess. But they _would_ obey me. Otherwise, they would be wild, much more dangerous to you.” Siobhan did not look persuaded, and Elissa’s heart sank. “You don’t like it,” she said dully. “It isn’t magic, Siobhan, I swear.”

Siobhan gazed ahead, trying to control her emotions. That moment seemed eternal to Elissa. Finally the newly made knight spoke. “I’m sorry for acting this way. This is special to you, and you wanted to tell me about it, and it must have been hard, since you know how I feel about magic.”

“It isn’t magic, though,” Elissa pleaded.

Siobhan nodded. “I believe you. You know more about it. But it does feel mightily close to it. A lot that our barbarian ancestors did is like that.”

Elissa wanted to cry. She had been sure this was the right time, but now, she was wondering if there ever could have been a “right time.” Would it have been better to keep this a secret? “Is this going to come between us?” she said unhappily.

Siobhan leaned over and gave her a brief kiss. “I’ll need some time,” she admitted. “It... changes how I think about some memories. And I really should spend more time with my mother now that I am a knight. But we can visit again, I’m sure!”

Her words were meant to reassure, but as Elissa got up and prepared to go to bed, she felt that this was the beginning of an end.

* * *

King Maric’s ship did not return from Wycome when expected. In fact, King Maric did not arrive in Wycome as expected. The Margrave of Wycome wrote to Ferelden expressing his concern, which instantly set off a search—spearheaded and financed by Teyrn Loghain—to find the missing ship.

There were pirates in those waters, as every Fereldan noble knew. The Felicisima Armada had a wide reach, and Tevinter slave ships plied their vile trade throughout the Free Marches. If they had gotten their hands on the king, they would surely demand an immense ransom. In fact, any outlaw who learned that the ship carried Ferelden’s monarch would make that demand.

And yet no ransom demand came. The months ticked on with no word.

There  _were_ other hazards in those seas, Elissa knew. Qunari dreadnoughts trawled the waters, and the Qunari did not believe in demanding ransom. Instead, they either killed all their captives—if they resisted—or forced them to be brought to Qunari lands to be “re-educated” in the Qun. If Qunari had taken King Maric’s ship, there was no hope of his return unless he allowed himself to be taken alive and somehow managed to escape. There were also ferocious storms of the tropical northern waters that were unknown to Fereldan ports, maelstroms that blew with winds twice the speed of the strongest gales known to Ferelden.

A small group of nobles, who seemed especially loyal to Teyrn Loghain, muttered darkly about Orlesian ships that traded with the northern Marches, Antiva, and Rivain. The Orlesians—and their unmarried Empress—might be able to make very good use indeed of a widowed Fereldan king, whispered these nobles, use that had nothing to do with demanding coin for his return.

Loghain’s mission to try to find Maric continued fruitlessly as Dragon 9:23 became 9:24.

Elissa’s personal anxiety advanced in tandem with the search. Siobhan wrote to her, and even came to Highever for Satinalia. The girls shared an enjoyable night together, but it felt to Elissa that it was not what it had been that summer. Siobhan seemed restrained, tense, distant, her ministrations to Elissa almost mechanical, or so it felt.

“Siobhan,” Elissa said afterward, “what’s wrong? Are you still worried about the fact that I’m a ranger?”

Siobhan was silent for a while before finally answering. “It isn’t you,” she said. “It’s... I trained as a knight. I _am_ one now. I learned to defend myself and others with nothing more than sound weapons. It’s not even the special things that Templars do... but they have to do them. There have to be people who can counter magic, to level the field. You tell me that this ability, this ranger talent, used to be widespread.... You say that you can summon wolves to fight and all that they know is to attack and kill. How can I know that there aren’t others who can do the same thing? And what can counter _that?”_

Elissa did not know what to say. “It’s rare,” she finally managed. “It’s rare, and the knowledge of how to do it is almost lost. Mother had to get the tome about it from trade with the Avvar.”

“So the Avvar still know about it,” Siobhan said devastatingly. “They know and they traded lore about it to a representative of a noble. Who else knows? I’d wager my sword that the Dalish know. Who knows what might still lurk in forgotten keeps and isolated villages around Ferelden? It isn’t you, Elissa,” she said again. “I know _you_ wouldn’t abuse it. But I don’t know that about anyone else. It seems like an unfair advantage in combat when one person can mystically summon a wolf to fight. That wasn’t what I trained for as a knight.”

That was a gut punch to Elissa. “I would never—if I had a mabari, I would welcome my dog’s aid in combat,” she cried, “and so I also welcome the aid of wolves. In real combat, not training, not tourneys, but real battle, there is no unfair advantage, Siobhan. There’s life and death. You don’t hold back anything you can do if you want to stay alive.”

Siobhan was silent for a moment. “I have to believe that the knightly code of honor matters,” she whispered. “The world is an ugly, cruel, dark place if it’s all a lie and everyone actually fights by any means necessary, fair or no.”

Elissa wanted to cry. “This isn’t dishonorable,” she said. “It’s just fighting with an ally, or allies.”

“Your own direwolf, yes. But the ones you can call randomly out of the woods and then send back when you are finished with them? You _control_ them... and through weird means. It’s... different. Or it would be different with other people, who don’t have your honor. It seems so to me.”

Elissa turned on her side, away from Siobhan, as they tried to get to sleep. She felt miserable, as if something precious had shattered beyond repair.

* * *

_Dragon 9:24._

It was a cold day in late Guardian when the Couslands received word of the death of Bann Eremon. Alfstanna’s family had not had a full four years with him since his diagnosis, just three. _Alfstanna,_ Elissa thought with a pang as she learned the news. Her friend was now the bann of the Waking Sea. _I wonder how she is,_ Elissa thought. With Siobhan still distant from her—and Elissa increasingly doubted that they could mend their relationship, to her sorrow—she thought she might like to see her old friend again.

She had the chance at the late bann’s funeral. As the attendees gathered on the grounds of Alfstanna’s bannorn under a black pavilion, the late bann’s body laid out on a pyre for immolation, and the priest of the local Chantry spoke of the Maker’s promise that His faithful would be gathered to His side, Elissa noticed her friend.

Alfstanna was garbed in black like her mother, who was also veiled. Her brother Irminric was a Templar now, and wore the armor of one. He would bear the torch to light the pyre. But Elissa almost did not recognize Alfstanna at first. Could that be her old childhood friend, that serious-faced young woman who held her grieving mother’s hand as the widow wept silent tears? Some of the change, no doubt, was the fact that her father had died. But Elissa was sure that there was more. Alfstanna looked several years older than her actual age.

Her old friend almost seemed a different person now, her face much more serious and somber than Elissa had ever seen when they were younger. She had lost her father and had to rule the bannorn, of course.  _ And we all must grow up,  _ Elissa thought. Still, it was sad to her that she seemed to have permanently left behind the close friendship they had had as girls.

* * *

_Dragon 9:24 Solace._

Elissa was nervous for her father and brother when they left for Antiva. King Maric had still not been found, and there were rumblings in the capital about Loghain’s extended regency and the fact that a man who had been born a farmer’s son was now effectively the King of Ferelden. There were increasing calls to declare Maric dead and to hold a Landsmeet to acclaim Prince Cailan.

Since Maric was still lost at sea, Elissa—and, truth be told, Eleanor—were not especially happy when the men of the family set sail for Antiva. It seemed to be tempting fate. Elissa tried to put her anxiety out of her mind during their absence, continuing her training at the castle, writing increasingly aloof letters to Siobhan in the hope that Siobhan would open up to her again, and teaching Faolin the direwolf new tricks.

One day, Eleanor and Elissa received a pair of stunning letters from abroad. Bryce and Fergus had arrived safely in Antiva and had been welcomed by the royal family. They had made good trade deals. The stunning part was this:

_So, little pup,_ Fergus wrote,  _I’m going to be bringing back your new sister-in-law. I’m sorry that you and Mother cannot be present for the wedding, but Lady Oriana’s family insisted on having it here and made it a condition of the trade deal. Lady Oriana has agreed to renew her vows at the Highever Chantry when we return, however, and I look forward to introducing you and Mother to her when we are home. She is wonderful and I never thought I would want to give up bachelor life, but for her, I will do so happily._

Elissa set down the letter, astonished. She gazed at her mother, who was also reading hers with wide eyes.

“I hope they love each other,” was all that Eleanor would say, staring at the letter in amazement. “They could not have known each other more than a month. Your father says it was not an arranged match for the trade deal. I hope it was not a case of... well, a crossbow wedding. Your brother, for several years... well. You know how it is.”

Elissa stifled a laugh. “Fergus has been a bachelor for a while, but I can’t think that he would risk the wrath of nobles who hire Crow assassins and use poison on their enemies! They must at least feel... passion.” She smiled. “I have a sister-in-law. Lady Oriana. I can’t wait to meet her.”

And indeed, it was a nice change of pace, and a pleasant thing to anticipate after the gradual drift from Siobhan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words of the knighthood ceremony are a mix of canon from _The Stolen Throne_ with Gareth Mac Tir’s knighting by Maric, and the knighting ceremony of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ with modifications to refer to the Maker rather than the Seven and to remove sexist references.


	5. Lock It Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Major Content Warnings: Attempted sexual assault, extreme misogyny, and allusions to corrective rape of lesbians. In addition, without giving any spoilers, there is some extremely sad and upsetting content in this chapter that is heavily inspired by _A Song of Ice and Fire_**.

_Dragon 9:25, Denerim._

The King was dead.

After a fruitless two-year search for King Maric’s ship—or even its wreckage—it was proclaimed that he had been lost at sea.

In nations such as Nevarra and Antiva, the traditional cry would be,  _ “The King is dead! Long live the King”—_or Queen. The Crown Prince or Princess automatically ascended to the throne upon the death of the reigning monarch, and the traditional cry hailed the new ruler. Those nations did not grant their nobles a voice in the succession. In Antiva especially, anyone who did not want to see the designated heir take the throne had to employ extralegal means, usually the infamous Crows, the assassins’ guild.

Ferelden did things differently—a much more civilized approach, in Elissa’s opinion. A monarch could designate an heir apparent, but the crown was  _ not  _ guaranteed unless the ruling nobles of Ferelden, through the Landsmeet, approved it, and rivals could mount a challenge if they had sufficient support. And later today, numerous noble lords and ladies were going to gather in the Couslands’ second house in Denerim to discuss that very prospect.

Fergus and Elissa were allowed to be present for this, to participate in the discussion and certainly to overhear it. They were more than old enough. Lady Oriana was now heavily pregnant, and of course a man old enough to have started a family was old enough to sit in on this momentous discussion, but Elissa was too—because the purported challenger to the accession of Prince Cailan was none other than her own father, Bryce.

She was not pleased with the idea of becoming a princess. It was not something she had ever seriously considered, because for all of her life, the only way it would have been possible would have been to marry the prince, a repulsive prospect. As the second child of a nobleman, she had a certain degree of freedom, for which she was very grateful now.

But if her father  _ did  _ become the next king, she would probably be expected to marry a man anyway, and that was an idea she could not accept. As a child she had thought that being married to a “boy” would be disgusting, but it was even more unpleasant to think about now that she had experience with sexual intimacy. But the logical part of her mind, the part of her that had been immersed in noble politics as a Cousland, kept arriving at a dead end while trying to think of a way out.

Under a King Bryce, either Fergus or Elissa herself would have to inherit Highever, and the other would be next in line for the throne. It  _ might _ be possible to avoid marriage if Lady Oriana were the one to produce heirs for Highever  _ and _ the throne of Ferelden, but Fereldans were suspicious of foreign marriage ties among their royalty. Most Kings- and Queens-Regnant, and the Rebel Queen Moira as well, had been wed to Fereldans of high noble birth. Oriana would be regarded with suspicion as the wife of a Fereldan crown prince, making it much likelier that Fergus would continue as the heir of Highever and Elissa herself would be in line for the higher seat. No, Elissa had no desire to be a princess. It was a grand title, but it would be a ball and chain when Elissa instead loved her freedom—the freedom to decide what she wanted to do with her life, the freedom to be with another woman.

_ Siobhan, _ she thought with a pang. They had not corresponded since the previous year. Elissa realized that the relationship was well and truly over, but it still hurt. Siobhan might have insisted that her issue with rangers was not with Elissa herself, that it was not a judgment on her personally, but it felt like one to Elissa—and it still hurt. However, that pain was finally beginning to subside. Whereas she had held out hope for a long time that Siobhan would change her mind, now she was beginning to move on and leave the relationship in the past. She hoped that someday she would meet someone else... and she had a terrible feeling that becoming a princess would foreclose on that.

Elissa had gathered that her parents were not entirely pleased about the prospect of becoming royalty either. It seemed to have been the idea of Arl Howe and Arl Bryland, who were brothers-in-law, not the Couslands themselves—and they were apparently trying to rope Arl Urien Kendells of Denerim into the scheme as well.

That plan had led to a social situation that Elissa detested. While most of the parents were either holed up in their Denerim mansions plotting or else spending money in the city, their children—those who were old enough to go about the city alone or with attendants—were expected to mingle. Fergus had the good fortune of an excuse in Oriana’s pregnancy, but Elissa did not, and so she found herself sitting at a table in the Gnawed Noble with Habren Bryland, trying her best to ignore everything the girl said and think of better things.

Habren had not improved with the years. If anything, she was even more insipid and mean-spirited than she had been as a young girl. She had a mabari puppy in her lap, Elissa noticed—a chocolate-brown girl who looked extremely unhappy about her confinement, based on how she wriggled.

“My lord father is trying to arrange a betrothal for me with Bann Vaughan Kendells,” Habren said loftily. She picked up the small goblet of wine—Orlesian sweet wine, Elissa noted with contempt, not the good kind from Antiva or Tevinter—and swallowed a large swig of it.

The puppy that she held tightly with her left arm twisted, letting out a plaintive yip. Habren scowled and tightened her grip. “Be still!” she snarled.

Elissa drew her breath tightly. This was definitely not an imprint of dog and master, and it was no way to treat a companion animal. The puppy looked up at her with pleading, dark eyes, clearly wishing for rescue. Elissa’s heart hurt. She wished that she could.

“Habren,” she tried to say, “the puppy wants to be held less tightly.”

“If I do that, she’ll run away from me.” Habren scowled at the animal, who cowered at the sight.

“I thought you didn’t like mabari.”

“This one is different from all the others,” Habren declared. She eyed the puppy menacingly, then turned back to Elissa. “So. Bann Vaughan. I can’t say that I love the idea of calling you ‘Your Highness,’ but the good thing is that the Arl of Denerim rules the city, not the monarch, so as Arlessa someday, I’d actually have more power than you.”

Elissa did not want to discuss Vaughan Kendells. Just this morning, she had heard a truly awful rumor about him in the marketplace, that he had paid a visit to the elven alienage and had abused an elf girl. The nobles studiously avoided such talk about one of their own, but the common folk chattered freely about it.

Habren drained the goblet and set it down. “You!” she demanded, snapping her fingers at the barkeep. “More of this, and fast!”

Elissa tried to make an apology with her eyes as the woman hurried over to fill Habren’s goblet with more of the sugary-sweet slop that the Orlesians presumed to call wine.

Habren continued relentlessly. “I think he’s very handsome, don’t you?”

Although she was nobly born, there were limits to Elissa’s capacity to tell polite lies, and this was well past that limit. “No, I don’t,” she said bluntly. “He’s vile.”

Habren started, taken aback at being challenged. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but another gulp of wine helped. She sniffed. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I suppose. Uncle Howe says that he wonders if you like men at all, the way that you like to play at being one. But _I_ can hardly wait. I have spoken with his lordship and I think we have loads in common. We see the world rather the same way.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps you should spend some time in prayer.”

It was clear that this insult took several seconds to register with Habren. The girl blinked twice, staring at Elissa as the meaning and import of her words fully sank in. Then Habren bared her teeth in anger.

“You are a _bitch,_ Elissa Cousland,” she hissed. “A _bitch,_ and all you are is _jealous._ You just want him for yourself!”

Elissa actually laughed aloud. She rose from her seat, finishing her ale. “Habren, there is _nothing_ I want less than that vicious—”

“He’s not vicious!”

“Have you not even _seen_ the way he looks at elven women? And the way they hurry away from him as soon as they can? There’s a reason for it, Habren! There is _always_ a reason when that many women act that way about the same man!”

Habren scoffed. “They’re _elves._ Of course they’re frightened of him, and well they should be! Servants _should_ be intimidated by their masters.”

“Servants,” Elissa drawled, taking her seat again and trying to keep her voice down so that the rest of the tavern’s patrons did not hear. “Servants, the people who cook for us, serve our food, let people in and out of our homes, guard us—you want them to hate and fear us? You don’t want them to, instead, feel _loyalty_ to us? When someone’s only power is betrayal, do you think there is never a chance that they’ll _use it?”_

“Traitors are hanged, disemboweled, drawn, quartered, and beheaded,” Habren said.

“And what good does that do you if you are dead already, Habren?” Elissa said. She glared at the girl. “Is that what your lord father believes? Is that how he treats his servants? I am telling you, I cannot yet prove anything, but there is a reason every elven woman I’ve ever seen wants to be far away from Vaughan Kendells, when they do not respond that way to other noblemen. Do you truly think he would treat you differently behind closed doors?” As much as she hated Habren, she did not think any woman deserved to be in the clutches of a rapist—and that was the dark rumor about Bann Vaughan.

The puppy in Habren’s arms squirmed fiercely, and she tightened her grip so much that Elissa was sure she was going to choke it. The dog let out a series of desperate, wretched cries for help—

“Whoa!”

“What in the Void _is_ that?”

“Is that a _wolf?_ It’s huge!”

The other patrons of the Gnawed Noble gaped and exclaimed in shock as Elissa’s direwolf, Faolin, bounded through the doors and went straight to the table where her mistress sat. She growled at Habren before lifting the puppy right out of the young woman’s arms.

“My dog!” Habren wailed as the wolf carried the relieved puppy away. She leaped from her seat, knocking her goblet over in the hubbub.

The direwolf dropped the puppy at the feet of a group of banns clustered in a darkened corner. As Habren moved to advance on them, the puppy yelped and leaped into the lap of Bann Ceorlic of Lothering, burrowing against him.

The wolf stood in front of the noblemen, growling menacingly at Habren. She stopped in her tracks, then turned on Elissa.

“Call it off!” she demanded, pointing at the wolf. “Call your _beast_ off and make it give me my puppy back!”

The brown puppy, however, was now happily licking the hands of the bann as he petted the animal.

“Oh dear,” Elissa said sarcastically, taking her place beside the wolf as the nobles stifled their smirks, “it appears that the puppy has imprinted on Bann Ceorlic. I’ll have to compensate you, I suppose.”

Habren clenched her fists and teeth, but she did not dare dispute this. In Ferelden, the bond of a mabari and its imprinted master was held almost sacred. When a non-imprinted mabari that someone owned imprinted on someone else, they were supposed to arrange for compensation in coin or in kind if possible, because the dog’s chosen master was held to be the true one.

“I’m going to tell my father,” Habren sneered. “We’ll see about this.” With that, she flounced off.

Elissa grinned at the nobles, who raised a toast to her, as the direwolf moved haughtily to her side.

* * *

“That _thing_ of hers took my puppy away!”

Faolin growled. Beside the wolf, Elissa put a hand on her snout. “With all due respect, my lord Arl,” she said to Leonas Bryland of South Reach, “my wolf was very upset by the fact that Habren was... well, if I may say so, she was holding the puppy so tightly that the poor thing was choking.”

Leonas Bryland frowned at his daughter. “Habren, I told you that this would be the last puppy for a long time if it ‘ran away’ too. If they run away because you mistreat them, I’m not going to get you any more.”

“And since it did imprint on Bann Ceorlic, but it was my wolf that took it from Habren, I will pay for the puppy,” Elissa said. Behind her, her parents, brother, and sister-in-law stood in support, she knew. “But... I think there is something that you should know about the many puppies Habren has had.”

Habren’s eyes widened in alarm. She shook her head mutely, but Elissa had no intention of keeping this secret for her.

“They don’t run away, my lord Arl,” Elissa said, glaring at Habren. Beside her, the wolf growled again. “That’s... not what happens to them when they displease Habren.”

“You—” Habren began to say, before her father silenced her with a look.

Bryland turned to Bryce and Eleanor in grave concern. “Is this true?” he exclaimed.

The Teyrna sighed. “I’m afraid it is, my lord. For several years I only heard of it through rumor, but... the one that she had just before this one....” She shook her head. “One of my guests came to me to tell me that she had personally seen Habren choking it to death.”

Bryce nodded in resignation, supporting his wife.

“Cousin Delilah,” Habren muttered under her breath. “That mousy little bitch....”

Elissa had not known that, and her respect for Delilah Howe suddenly soared.

Bryland turned on his daughter in fury. “Watch your tongue!” he snapped. “I cannot believe—I am ashamed of you! A Fereldan noblewoman, killing mabari! Bad enough to kill any dog or cat deliberately, but _our dogs?”_ He shook his head. “Lady Elissa, do not trouble yourself about paying me back.”

“It’s the honorable thing to do, Ser,” Elissa said, greatly enjoying this and wanting to make sure that she presented herself as nobly as she could.

Habren was furious. “That thing isn’t even a dog!” she exclaimed. “It’s a filthy great wolf and I don’t understand why it is allowed here! It’s no decent creature—”

The direwolf growled menacingly, advancing a single step toward Habren—who went silent at once.

“That’s enough, Habren,” Bryland said. “The wolf hasn’t harmed anyone. Lady Elissa has it trained as well as a dog, obviously. And _you_ will not have any more animals as long as you remain under my roof.”

As the Brylands hustled out of the Couslands’ Denerim estate, Elissa turned back to her parents, brother, and sister-in-law, all of whom were smiling.

* * *

The supporters of Bryce Cousland for King had arrived at the Couslands’ Denerim mansion to discuss the scheme. They sat at the long table in the great dining hall, and the two arls—Bryland and Howe—were indeed present. Arl Urien Kendells was not, Elissa noted. Several banns were present too, including—to Elissa’s slight pain—Alfstanna. The changes that Elissa had noticed at the late bann’s funeral were even more pronounced now. Alfstanna had become a staid, serious person.

Bryce and Eleanor entered the room. The people at the table stood at attention as they crossed the room and took their seats at the long table, returning to their own seats once the teyrn and teyrna were seated.

Elissa noticed that her father looked tired, weary, and unhappy. Lines creased his forehead, as if he had a headache. He picked up the flagon of ale at his place setting and downed a swig of it before finally speaking.

“My friends... I thank you for coming here to show your support for me. You have done me great honor. Truly, I thank you for this compliment.”

Elissa caught a glimpse of Rendon Howe as her father spoke. The arl’s face began to twist, as if he had guessed what was coming.

“But I must tell you the truth: For the sake of Ferelden, I cannot do this. The Teyrna is in agreement.”

Arl Howe slammed his flagon on the table and glared at the teyrn. “My lord Teyrn!” he exclaimed. “You say it’s ‘for the sake of Ferelden.’ Do you not know why my brother-in-law and I support you? That  _ prince  _ is weak, unfit—”

“My lord Arl,” Bryce said in measured tones.

Howe continued relentlessly. “He is weak, unfit, and just as enamored of Orlais as his Orlesian cunt of an aunt!”

Eleanor glowered harshly at him. “Arl Howe, your words are an insult to women, including your hostess. Find another way to express your sentiment.”

Howe scowled but continued anyway. “Prince Cailan would be a terrible king,” he spat. “You must see this. You’re a smart man, Bryce.”

Arl Leonas Bryland spoke up. “My lord brother-in-law is right about this,” he said, his tone more accommodating. “Maric was a good king—”

“Until he went gallivanting off to his death!” Howe exclaimed. “And from what I’ve heard from Teyrn Loghain, this was not the first time he went off on a potentially deadly lark. It was the last, however.”

Bryland spoke again. “Maric was a great leader and a good king for most of his reign, but he had a weak spot for adventuring, and it has left Ferelden in danger now, because Cailan apparently inherited none of Maric’s good qualities and all of his weak ones.” He unfolded his hands in supplication to Bryce and Eleanor. “Please, my lord, allow us to sponsor you at the Landsmeet. Ferelden needs you.”

Bryce sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. The nobles at the table fell silent, and a fear shot through Elissa as she observed her father—the fear that, despite his reluctance, he would be persuaded anyway.

But then he spoke again, and his voice was wearier than before. “My friends, I cannot permit it. I  _ understand  _ what you say about Cailan, and... well... this must not leave this room... but my teyrna and I share many of your views and reservations about him. But you say that you want what is best for Ferelden. If this challenge takes place and is successful, do you truly think that the conflict that would follow would be good for Ferelden?”

The arls and several of the banns exchanged glances. Again it was Bryland who spoke. “We don’t do things like that here,” the man said. “We settle it at a Landsmeet, peacefully, and that’s that.”

Bryce gave him a wry, cynical look. “That is how we tell ourselves that it is... but do you really believe that it would happen that way, Leonas?” He leaned forward. “Cailan is now married to Lady—to  _ Princess  _ Anora, I should say. He has the support of Redcliffe and Gwaren. That means Loghain,  _ and  _ the army that Loghain commands. Do you think he would take it as anything other than an insult to his daughter, his only child, if I became King? He  _ commands the army, _ Leonas.”

The nobles looked down, murmuring quietly.

Howe spoke up uneasily. “Anora is still the heiress of Gwaren.”

Bryce continued. “Do you think that after being a prince, Cailan would happily assent to being the lord consort of a teyrnir? Do you think that his supporters would assent to that? Do you think that his future  _ children,  _ who would be Theirins, direct descendants of Calenhad, would not see a Cousland king as a usurper, and act accordingly?”

“By law, the winner of a Landsmeet cannot be a usurper,” Bryland said.

Bryce stared fiercely at him. “In theory, you are right. But people don’t always act according to theory,  _ or  _ according to the law. You fought beside me in the Rebellion, you and Rendon both. By the strict letter of the  _ law  _ that was in effect then, we were criminals and traitors.”

“Ferelden is _ours,”_ Howe snarled, “and the Orlesians were the usurpers!”

“Of course they were, but they _were_ administering the law at the time. That is my point. _Because_ our rebellion was just, and the Orlesians _were_ usurpers, the Orlesian law that was in effect mattered not to us. And I am telling you that if you manage to install me as King, then supporters of Cailan—of the Theirin line—will see _me_ as a usurper and _their_ cause as just. You and Leonas can talk about the law and the Landsmeet, but that won’t stop the inevitable.”

Howe scowled, thinking for a moment, before speaking again. “Then the answer is clear.”

Relief filled Bryce’s face—and Elissa felt relief wash over her as well. Howe was going to give this up, she thought.

Howe continued. “The boy must be eliminated. The Crows—”

Bryce and Eleanor exchanged shocked glances, and the other nobles at the table broke out in mutters. The Teyrn of Highever slammed his palms on the tabletop and glared ferociously at Howe. “I will pretend that I didn’t hear you say that.”

“You said yourself—”

“We _do not_ do that in Ferelden!” he roared. Elissa was stunned; she had never seen her father so angry before. “This is not the fucking—” He collected himself, and Elissa was even more stunned that he had cursed so vulgarly in front of their noble guests. He took a breath and another swig of ale as Eleanor squeezed his free hand. “This is not Antiva, Kirkwall, or bloody Orlais. It is Ferelden, and I never want to hear that hinted at again, _ever!”_

Howe glared back in challenge and defiance for a moment before finally quailing in front of the teyrn’s wrath. “As you say, my lord Teyrn.”

He glared out across the table. “What you just heard  _ stays in this room. _ It will not happen, so no one will speak of the fact that it was mentioned.”

The nobles murmured in agreement. No one, it seemed, had any interest in defying his order—because if Cailan became king, as it appeared he would, they would have attended a meeting in which someone suggested treason.

Bryce took another swig of his ale and leaned back in his seat. “Maker’s breath. All right. I trust that this is also the end of the discussion of making  _ me  _ King. I do not ask that you vote for Cailan if you cannot do so, but if anyone proposes me in defiance of what I have said, I will refuse it.” He sighed. “That said... you are not wrong about Cailan. He is not the man his father was. Since we all want what is best for Ferelden—that is why you have come, as you said—we must do what we can to help him succeed at a task that, we all must agree, is beyond his capacity to do alone. He will have an intelligent Queen, and no doubt Loghain and Arl Eamon will want to help him....”

Howe scoffed at the mention of Eamon. “The Arl of Redcliffe is too enamored of Orlais, and his arlessa  _ is  _ Orlesian. He’s much more likely to pour poison into the boy’s ears.”

“Well, no one can accuse Loghain of being enamored of Orlais, my lord Arl,” Teyrna Eleanor said, a wry smirk on her face. “His counsel should counter the Arl of Redcliffe.”

“If the boy will listen to it.” Howe’s tone made it clear that he doubted that. “Loghain is not the most cheerful of men. Given the choice between Loghain’s bitter medicine and Eamon’s sugar-sweetened poison, what do you think the b— _Cailan_ will choose?”

“And that is why we must do our part to steer him right, to steer him in the direction of helping Ferelden. Some of us can apply ‘sugar’ to our words too.”

* * *

Elissa was greatly relieved after this meeting. The weight of a royal title, and the accompanying responsibilities, had lifted from her shoulders, making everything seem brighter afterward. Even her gradual grief about the end of her relationship with Siobhan seemed lesser now.

The Landsmeet was now just a formality. Cailan would be acclaimed as King of Ferelden, and that was the end of it. It was strange to contemplate the prospect of Anora Mac Tir—Anora _Theirin,_ Elissa corrected herself—as Queen, since she had known the other young woman for all her life... but so it was. She would grow used to it, she decided. The old gave way to the new.

Through the grapevine, she heard of a minor campaign by Teyrn Loghain and the banns sworn to him to have Anora share the crown with Cailan as Queen-Regnant, a co-ruler rather than a mere consort. Given what she had heard about Cailan in the meeting, she thought this a very good idea—but then, word reached her that Arl Eamon Guerrin was resolutely against it and that Cailan was inclined to listen to his uncle.

_“The Arl of Redcliffe pours poison into the boy’s ears....”_

As much as she disliked the man, Arl Howe’s words entered her mind again in spite of herself. Why would Eamon Guerrin want Cailan to listen to Anora less, if not to listen more to _himself_ when he disagreed with the Queen?

_It’ll be all right,_ Elissa tried to reassure herself.  _There is plenty of time for Cailan to grow into the crown and change his mind about his wife._

She told herself that, but these reassurances never quite succeeded entirely.

* * *

Elissa was visiting the smithy of Master Wade, the armorer who catered to well-heeled customers, when another person she had wanted to avoid found her.

“Well, well, well, if it’s not Lady Elissa Cousland! Or do you prefer _Lord_ now? Since you’re still trying to play the man, looking at weapons!”

Elissa whirled around, recognizing the hateful voice of Tommy Howe. She drew her daggers from her back and held them threateningly. Faolin was nowhere in sight; the direwolf had remained at the Couslands’ house to prowl the grounds for vermin.

“Do you have anything to say in your own words?” she sneered back as two other figures came into silhouette in front of the setting sun. “Or is your head so empty that all you can do is parrot your father? I’m sure that’s who said it.”

Tommy sneered. He was no longer short and stocky. Having gone through a growth spurt over the past few years, he was now as tall as Fergus. Elissa knew, however, that he still had not bothered to learn how to use a weapon, and that fact kept her from panicking.

“All right,” spoke up Master Wade, “I’ll not have any brawling in here! If you lot have a dispute, take it outside my shop!”

Elissa smiled menacingly at these words. “Do you want to fight, Howe? I’m not afraid of you. I’m looking at weapons because I know how to use them. I beat you years ago and I can beat you today.”

Tommy looked down at the dusty ground, all the bravado suddenly gone out of him. He swallowed hard.

Then one of the silhouetted figures spoke up. “Oh, there’s no need for _that,”_ drawled a male voice, and Elissa’s heart sank as she recognized Vaughan Kendells. The other figure came into view, revealing Habren Bryland’s smirking face.

“I think we should all head to the pub and settle our differences over some good ale, don’t you agree, Cousland?” Vaughan said. Beside him, Habren gripped his arm tightly, to Elissa’s disgust.

She was certain that she could handle Tommy Howe in single combat, and Habren knew nothing whatever about arms training, but she had no idea of Vaughan’s skill and did not like the idea of taking on an enemy whose skill level was unknown to her—especially when he _would_ have a backup in Howe, even a poor one. She also knew that she did _not_ want to get into closed quarters with these people. “I _don’t_ agree,” she managed. “I have business in the shop. If you and the others don’t, then go have your drinks alone.”

“Oh, we can wait for you, certainly,” Vaughan said, his tone slimy.

Elissa had not actually found anything that she wanted to purchase—she was in the shop mainly to browse, truth be told—and she decided to try once again to dismiss them. “No, you misunderstood. I do not want to have drinks, and the ‘differences’ between me and Tommy Howe are too long-standing to be settled over a pint of ale. You should all be on your way.”

As much as Elissa disliked Vaughan, especially after the rumor she had heard in Denerim, she had no _personal_ history of conflict with him. This was not his fight, she hoped—it was just something that Tommy Howe had somehow roped him into—and she felt her entire musculature relax when he shrugged faintly and turned aside, leaving the armorer’s shop, Habren still grabbing his arm as tightly as she had been grabbing the puppy that Faolin had rescued.

Tommy Howe looked angry as they left, confirming Elissa’s suspicions, and with an angry glare at her, he scurried after them, trying to pull at Vaughan’s arm and whispering to him furiously. But Vaughan kept walking. Elissa breathed a sigh of relief when all three were out of the shop.

Master Wade raised his eyebrows at her. “Well?” he said. “Want something good to protect yourself against that lot? You didn’t hear me say that, of course, since the tall one is the heir of Denerim.”

Elissa nodded at once and turned to the man’s stack of already crafted daggers. Hoping that the trio would get deep in their cups in a pub as she dawdled, and forget about her, she finally selected a lethally sharp object with a purplish-black sheen: a dragonbone dagger.

After paying for her purchase, Elissa left the armorer, keeping a sharp eye on corners and the doors of other establishments. She fully expected an ambush, at least from Tommy Howe, who was a vindictive little shit. She only managed to breathe a sigh of relief when the shadowed alley of the noble district came in sight. _Home,_ she thought.

She had just let her guard down and turned the corner to walk down that street when something grabbed her right arm and pulled her out of the street.

Elissa scrambled for her blade with her other arm. It wasn’t her preferred one, but she could wield with it. But before she could find purchase, her attacker pinned that arm too.

“Let me go!” she roared as loudly as she could, hoping that someone in the nearby noble houses would hear her and come out. She gazed wide-eyed as her attacker half-dragged her onto the grounds of the Arl of Denerim’s estate, shouting all the while. Her braid, coiled at the back of her head for tidiness, came down as her assaulter grabbed at something— _my blades,_ she thought in despair at the sound of metal and dragonbone being unsheathed.

Finally the attacker released her, and Elissa got a good look at him. She was not surprised at all to behold the angry visage of Tommy Howe. Beside him stood Vaughan Kendells, who was holding her daggers. Habren Bryland was also there, watching in vicious glee.

Elissa scrambled backward in what she realized was a tumbledown garden shed behind the palatial estate. Her heart was pounding. “My father will have your heads for this,” she snarled. Quickly she took in the scene. Both of them were dubiously armored from the waist down. If she could just get in a hard, brutal kick, she could incapacitate them.

Vaughan drew in, and Elissa could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Howe tells me that his father wants you for him, but that _your_ father is balking at the betrothal. I just heard that your father also refused to be considered for the crown. Why’s that, Cousland?” He leaned in. “Is it because of the harlot your brother carried back instead of marrying Delilah? Nobody wants an Antivan whore as a princess, is that it?”

Elissa tried to aim a kick at Vaughan’s shins, but he saw it coming and moved away in time.

“Or is it because of what _else_ Howe told me, that he thinks there’s a problem with _you?”_

Elissa suddenly realized where this was going. Scrambling to her feet, she let out a shout, in the hopes that someone would hear. Just as Vaughan moved to cuff her, she ducked, and lunged with a ferocious kick—which, this time, landed in a very sensitive area. He lost his grip on Elissa’s daggers, which clattered away.

Vaughan yelped in pain and clutched his crotch for a moment, real anger settling in his face. As he hobbled, Elissa scrambled for her blades—but Tommy Howe got to them first, picking them up and smirking at her.

“The Arl apparently thinks you’re a rug-muncher,” Vaughan sneered, drawing his hand away from his crotch. “And I think he’s right. Now,” he continued, a sly grin spreading over his face, “Tommy doesn’t like that, but I have no problem with it, myself. I think it’d be great fun to watch you and some other slut go at it—but then, you see, a _man_ would get to join in. That’s how it goes.”

Stark fear filled Elissa at this. _My wolf,_ she thought, her heart sounding so loud to her ears that it almost drowned out Vaughan’s disgusting words. _Faolin. Help. Help me!_ She closed her eyes momentarily, trying to call to the animal through her bond.

“Now, I understand Lady Habren is a maiden,” Vaughan continued, “but you—I suppose you’ve had other girls up inside you.” His eyes gleamed at that image. “Ever had a _man,_ Cousland?”

“Fuck you,” Elissa snarled back. Her gaze darted around, looking for a weakness—but if she got through Vaughan, Tommy Howe still had her blades.

“You _said_ you were going to punish her,” Tommy called out. Elissa hated him for his cowardice, standing aside, away from the fight, holding her daggers. “You said you’d _fix_ her.”

The nasty smirk on Habren Bryland’s face suddenly vanished. “What, Vaughan?” she exclaimed. “What does he mean? You’re not going to—”

But neither of the young men was paying attention to her.

“I did,” Vaughan continued. He burst into an ugly smile. “It’ll be fun, Cousland. You’ll like it. All your sort really need is a good hard fucking from a real man. That’ll set you right.” He peered back at Tommy Howe. “Or perhaps if you want your _betrothed_ to do it first—”

“He’s not my betrothed and you’re a filthy rapist,” Elissa snarled. “You try this and you’ll swing, Kendells. I mean it.” Where _was_ everyone? Where was her wolf?

Habren was glowering at Vaughan now, apparently offended—not at the fact that Vaughan was all but admitting to being a rapist, but because his intended victim was Elissa. She saw it as sex rather than rape, Elissa realized with bottomless disgust. “You were going to—I thought that we—”

_Oh, shut up, you insipid, vicious little—_

Elissa’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the furious gallop of feet—the paws of a great wolf.

In a blur of grey and white, Faolin slammed bodily into Vaughan, knocking him aside. Elissa scrambled to her feet and made for Tommy Howe at once as Habren ran off, out of the garden shed, screaming in terror.

_“You give me my daggers!”_ Elissa screamed as she lunged at Howe. He was bigger than she, and armed, but she still took him on, landing brutal kicks to his shins as the wolf and Vaughan Kendells grappled on the ground.

Tommy did not know how to wield a blade with any skill, but it did not require skill to simply use the blades as blunt barriers. Elissa grabbed at one, trying to pry it out of his fist, holding his other blade-wielding fist at bay—but he still got in several sharp slices on her hands. She tried to put the pain and the blood out of her mind.

Elissa had just recovered her dragonbone dagger, and was on the verge of getting her other one back too, when a canine yelp stole her attention—and Howe’s. On the ground, Vaughan, who was armed with a sword, had managed to draw it and had cut an ugly gash in Faolin’s belly from below even as the wolf had wrestled with him. Red blood was pouring from the wound.

Elissa’s heart almost stopped. Tommy Howe let out a shriek, suddenly horrified and frightened at just how far this nasty little scene had advanced. With a quick glance at Vaughan, Elissa, and the wolf, he threw the second dagger to the ground and ran off as fast as he could.

The wolf, still with fight in her despite the bleeding gash on her belly, growled again and made to lunge for Vaughan once more, latching onto his sword hand. He let out a yelp as the blade clattered to the ground. The wolf worried at his hand for a moment more before releasing it, revealing five bloodied and probably broken fingers.

Elissa picked up the second dagger and advanced on him, wanting to disarm him and end this so that she could get help—the Couslands did not have a Healer in their Denerim estate, and she had no idea where one might be except for the Royal Healer—her heart was pounding in terror for her wolf—

Vaughan looked around the shed and reached for a shovel with his uninjured hand.

Elissa realized at once what he was going to do, and moved as quickly as she could, but he was closer.

She was just behind him when he brought the heavy tool down upon the wolf’s head.

Elissa could barely think. The sickening sound and the plaintive yelp of agony from her wolf passed through her brain in a strangely detached way. She  _could not_ think,  _could not_ focus, on that—nor on the sudden feeling, deep within her mind and soul, of farewell—all that she could think of right now was heat, anger, and blood as she grappled with the loathsome man. Vaughan’s screams of pain mingled with her own shouts of grief and vengeance.

_“Elissa!”_

She was finally brought out of the fog of hate and misery by the sound of her mother’s voice. Accompanying the teyrna were her father, Rendon Howe, Loghain Mac Tir, and Urien Kendells.

Breathing heavily, Elissa drew back. She realized that her hands were sliced and bloodied, and the pain that she had tried to push away came roaring back. But the dragonbone dagger that she had just purchased from Wade was driven all the way through Vaughan Kendells’ left hand, and he was screaming in agony.

Quick, heavy breathing in the corner caught her attention. She realized with astonishment that the direwolf was still alive—

And then, as her parents and the other nobles drew in, her heart sank. Alive, yes, but the animal’s teeth were broken and a large indentation marred her head. She was technically alive, but not for long, and she would never wake again. In her heart, Elissa knew it at once.

But she was not ready to accept that. “The Royal Healer!” she exclaimed, tears falling from her face. “We have to get her to the Palace! Vaughan  _attacked_ me and she defended me and he—he—”

Eleanor Cousland drew in, grief filling her face. “Elissa,” she said quietly.

Elissa shook her head. “We have to get her to the Palace so that the Royal Mage can see her.”

“Elissa.”

Vaughan was also yelling in pain.  _“I_ am the one who should see a Healer!” he bawled. “That  _creature_ knocked me down and attacked  _me!_ And then she did  _this_ to me!” He raised his hand, the dagger still lodged in it, for the benefit of his father.

Loghain spoke up, disgust pouring from his words, directed at Vaughan. “As Regent of Ferelden until the Landsmeet acclaims a monarch, I order—”

Arl Urien spoke up, his voice sounding rather like an older version of his son’s. “This is  _my_ estate and  _my_ city, Loghain,” he said in guarded tones. “You know very well that the monarch does not rule the capital city, just the Palace and Fort Drakon.  _I_ say we listen to what my son has to say. What I saw was Lady Elissa’s dagger through one hand and wolf bites and scratches all over his other hand. Two against one, until he defeated the wolf.”

_“Your son_ attempted to  _rape_ me!” Elissa snarled.

“Liar!” shouted Vaughan. “You and your disgusting animal attacked me!”

“Just ask Tommy Howe and Habren Bryland! They were here! They....” Elissa trailed off in despair as she realized that neither of them would likely step up to defend her version of events.

Bryce and Eleanor exchanged a look. “Arl Urien,” Bryce said, “my daughter is injured too, and her bonded animal is mortally wounded—”

_No!_ Despair flooded Elissa, and she did not even realize that she had voiced this cry aloud until she felt her mother’s arms tighten around her.

“—so _if_ she injured Vaughan, clearly, _her_ injuries had a source too,” Bryce continued in hard tones. He gazed quickly at the blade on the ground, then met the arl’s eyes again. “And that is a sword of the Kendells family. It seems clear to me that your son is no innocent victim, and that my daughter was defending herself.”

Elissa suddenly realized that Vaughan had been trying to paint her as the aggressor, and this as an unlawful attack upon a man on the grounds of his own home. A chill shot down her back at the thought of what that implied. At least her father was not going to stand for it—but—but—

Loghain was glaring at the Denerim heir in contempt, as if something about this scene were personally offensive to him. “I agree. This might be your city, Urien, but if you want to charge the daughter of a higher noble with an offense, you need _my_ permission to do it—and I deny that permission.” He stared at the dying wolf, his gaze hardening in anger. “Everyone, clear off. Bann Vaughan is injured and Lady Elissa is injured. The wolf....” He stopped, almost too angry to continue, then shook his head and turned aside. “Question Tommy Howe and Habren Bryland. If they confirm that there is more to this, we’ll have a Royal Tribunal. Otherwise, this is at an end.” He stalked off.

With a sneer, Rendon Howe strode forward and yanked the dragonbone dagger out of Vaughan Kendells’ hand. He tossed it at the ground in front of the Couslands as the young bann wailed in agony and his father, ever blind to the crimes of his son, hurried him toward the mansion.

“I believe you,” Arl Howe muttered, “but if that cowardly son of mine was involved in this, he won’t back you up. You’re fortunate Loghain declared the matter over. Urien was going to go for your head. And with you atop Kendells, your dagger through his palm, and your wolf nearby, it looked damn bad for you.” With that, he stalked away too, leaving the Couslands and the wolf alone.

“Elissa,” Eleanor said quietly, holding her daughter close. “I am so, _so_ sorry that we weren’t there to help you. Did he—did any of them—”

“Just my hands,” she said, showing her sliced, bloodied fingers. “But—Mother—we have to get Faolin to the Royal Palace. She....” Elissa trailed off as she looked once more at the direwolf. Her eyes were closed, and blood was trickling from her jaw. _“No,”_ she whispered. Tears formed anew in her eyes. “No, please.”

Bryce got on his knees, lifting the wolf’s head into his lap, heedless of the bloodstained spots that immediately formed on his fine clothes. “Elissa,” he said quietly, “you know there is nothing that anyone can do. Not even the best Healer in the world could... help her... with that head injury.”

She did know it, but it was too much. A sob escaped her as she eased next to her father. He allowed her to cradle the wolf in her own lap.

“You saved me,” she whispered to the animal, stroking her fur as tears poured down her cheeks. “You... you saved me... but I couldn’t save you.”

Bryce and Eleanor exchanged sad glances. “I have a... I have deathroot,” he said. “For use on blades, but... it would make it fast and painless for her.”

_Deathroot._ Despite the name, the herb itself was not especially lethal in its natural form, but concentrated, it made a terribly effective poison. Elissa did not want to assent. She did not, even now, want to accept the finality of this.

The wolf’s breathing grew shorter, and involuntary twitches began to overtake her body. That was too much for Elissa to bear.

“Do it,” she whispered, holding the wolf’s head close in a last hug.

* * *

Elissa did not want to leave her room again after that. The sights of Denerim held no charm for her. She learned that afternoon that, just as she had suspected, Tommy Howe and Habren Bryland had denied any knowledge of the vile scheme, making it her word against Vaughan’s and no solid proof that it had been anything but a fight between them. There would be no justice, she thought bitterly. Vaughan would get away with this, would no doubt continue to rape, and would become Arl of Denerim someday. The thought revolted her. Where was the justice in the world?

Several days later, she was lying unhappily on her bed, thinking about everything that had happened. She knew that Vaughan and his gang were to blame for it, but she could not help but blame herself a little as well. _Could I have been more careful?_ she thought. _Could I have gone home a different way, or not gone home at all? Gone to the Gnawed Noble or somewhere else instead? Might this never have happened if I’d just done something else?_

She gazed at the urn in her bedroom, which contained the ashes of her wolf. The Couslands had laid the poor body out in their courtyard and set a small pyre for her. Elissa hoped that people’s companion animals went to the Maker’s side too. Surely they did. It wouldn’t be the same without them. And Andraste herself was Fereldan... surely she would understand....

Finally, the day after the Landsmeet, Elissa went to her mother, the ranger tome in hand.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she said, handing the book to Eleanor.

The teyrna did not accept it at first. “Elissa, this is not your fault,” she protested. “Vaughan Kendells is the one who did this. He and Tommy Howe are responsible for this, not you.”

“I know,” she said, “and I hate them for it. I _hate_ them! I don’t care if that would make a priest frown at me and tell me I should forgive. I _won’t_ forgive this. I will _never_ forgive this.”

Eleanor held her tightly. “There are some things we cannot forgive,” she agreed, fierceness in her words.

“Tommy Howe put him up to it,” she blurted out. “He said... Vaughan said... he was going to do that to me because I....” Elissa suddenly realized that she had never told her parents that she was attracted to girls.

Eleanor gave her a knowing look. “That you prefer the company of girls?”

Elissa’s eyes widened. “You  _ knew?” _

“Your father and I both know,” Eleanor said, holding her ever tighter. “That is a key reason why we never intended to betroth you to Tommy Howe. Now, of course, since he has done this... well, it would be unthinkable even if you liked boys.”

Elissa hugged her mother back, then released her. “Siobhan,” she began. “We were... close.”

“I thought as much.”

“She ended our relationship because I told her about being a ranger,” Elissa admitted. “She was troubled by it.” _I wonder what she would think of it now. It’s as I told her, we do what we must do in real combat._ “That’s also why....” She took a deep breath. “I know that what happened isn’t my fault. But Faolin is dead now, and I lost a close relationship because of being a ranger. I... don’t want to do it anymore, Mother. This is my decision. Even if it isn’t my fault, if this is what comes of it, I don’t want to do it anymore. I will... I will look for a mabari. Maybe I will imprint on one. But not this.”

Eleanor sighed, accepting the tome. “It is your decision, as you say,” she agreed sadly. “I hope you change your mind someday, but I understand why you cannot do this right now. I’m sorry, love. I’m so, so sorry about everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I’m sorry. :(
> 
> Regarding other things in the chapter: I’ve expanded upon the back story that certain nobles wanted to propose Bryce as a challenger to Cailan, especially Arl Howe’s bit in it. If he murdered the Couslands for alleged treason rather than taking his accusations to the king for justice before Ostagar, there’s a reason for that, and logically it would be that he disliked Cailan from _way_ back and probably was one of the principals in the aborted challenge. I’m also suggesting that Bryce’s refusal of the crown and (in my telling of this) resolution instead to try to counsel Cailan was a factor in Howe’s ultimate betrayal of him.
> 
> As this chapter suggests, this is going to be an Eamon-critical, Cailan-critical, and pro-Anora story when it comes to Fereldan politics later on. No villain batting, but Elissa has opinions.
> 
> Also, the puppy that Faolin rescued from Habren goes on to live a long and happy life. In _Spells of Healing_ , the first volume of my long DA2 alternate universe in this same world state, Hawke’s mabari is from a litter that Bann Ceorlic did not want because of their color, so he gave them to the town’s weaponsmith to be given out to anyone on whom they imprinted. You’ll actually see Hawke’s dog next chapter! This puppy is the mother of those, including Hawke’s dog—and many more litters.
> 
> And finally, the confrontation with Bryland about Habren’s horrible activities means that she will not be doing this anymore by Dragon 9:30. This is now an AU change from canon. No more mabari will die at her hands, thanks to the poor wolf.


	6. Apostate Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is hard M/possible E. It is also the first Leliana viewpoint chapter. There’s some Leliana/F!Hawke content in here and that is the reason for the chapter rating.
> 
> This chapter involves a back story with major canon divergence. I’ve tried to show very plainly what this AU is, for my _Sanctification_ -only readers, but let me know if I didn’t make it clear enough.
> 
> I’m not going to use song lyrics as the theme of chapter titles for this story, unlike the majority of chapters for my _DA2_ series. That became a struggle in places and I overthought some of them. But the general inspiration for this chapter was Lady Gaga’s album _Joanne_.

_Wintermarch, Dragon 9:28, Lothering._

_This is a sweet, picturesque little town,_ Leliana thought as she stepped out of the living quarters of the Chantry faithful into the crisp winter air. She always did that, weather permitting, before beginning her devotionals and work duties each day. The world was the Maker’s canvas and it thrilled Leliana’s heart to soak in the beauty.

She gazed at the frost-tipped branches of the evergreens and recalled a particularly sour, prune-faced priest in Orlais who regarded reverence for nature as heathen, something that the “heretics” in the Dalish or the Avvar would do, and no matter that Chantries were built by people and the world was created by the Maker. Mother Dorothea always rolled her eyes and smiled wryly at Leliana when that priest had turned away....

Leliana smiled to herself at the thought of Dorothea. The priest had a streak of mischief about her, something that the more pious would consider unholy, but it did not seem so to Leliana. They had a rigid and narrow view of what it was to be a servant of Andraste and the Maker. Dorothea’s faith was more sincere than the professions of her detractors, because she tried to help people— _all_ people, even a sinful bard, an apostate elf, and a surface dwarf.

She sighed as the thought of Tug intruded. She hadn’t made it to Dorothea in time to save him. If there was one thing she could change.... Well, there were many things she would change from her bard days, but ultimately, she had done those deeds enmeshed in a web of wickedness and selfishness, and no one around her was any better than she. They were not her victims. They had to have their own reckonings—or not. Failing her friend was different.

Leliana supposed that her reckoning was a work in progress—but was it really right for it to be so _pleasant?_ Lothering was a beautiful, peaceful town.

 _Justice does not have to mean imprisonment and torture,_ she chastised herself. _It can mean expiation, and that can mean good deeds. Some criminals must be imprisoned, but it all depends on the case. Marjolaine...._

Leliana tried to clear her mind before she got lost in her own thoughts. She was not sure, even now, weeks after escaping the Game, what she wanted to happen to Marjolaine. That her fellow bard, mentor, and lover had betrayed her in the vilest of ways was indubitable. Leliana scolded herself whenever the comparison entered her mind, but the betrayal of Andraste by Maferath kept swimming to the forefront of her thoughts whenever she thought about Marjolaine. To betray one’s partner, the one who professed love and intimacy... that was surely the foulest of betrayals, even worse than betraying one’s blood. One did not choose one’s family, after all.

Leliana realized that her thoughts had become darkened, so she headed back inside the Chantry to sit in contemplation of Andraste. That usually helped. After praying and meditating, she would be ready to do some work of charity—whether tidying up and organizing the Chantry or going out to help people. The Revered Mother was feeling ill today, she had heard; a mild cold was making the rounds of Lothering, and the aging woman had caught it.

She lit the brazier and fed the fire until it was crackling smoothly, then sat at the front of the sanctuary on her knees to pray.

Leliana’s prayers were different from the kind that most parents taught their children, rote repetitions of sections of the Chant of Light. Such prayers had a purpose in young children, but a time came when people should develop their own relationship to the Maker, Leliana thought.

That was another view that she—and Dorothea—had that was somewhat frowned upon by the extremely orthodox. The Maker had turned His back on the world after the magisters killed Andraste, they taught, and He did not speak to anyone after the mortal world betrayed her. It was impious to suggest that one received messages from the Maker as His chosen prophet had. The Divines might receive inspired messages from the Maker, but through Andraste.

Leliana didn’t agree. The Maker’s capacity to forgive was infinite, and why would He punish people a thousand years later for a sin that they, themselves, had not committed? Why would He turn away from those who loved Andraste? _We are accountable for our own deeds,_ Leliana thought. Also, what was the point of solo prayer if not to reach the Maker? And if so, mightn’t the Maker sometimes have a response? Perhaps Andraste was a messenger; one could not know the truth of such things, but even in the familiar mortal world, one did not regard the carrier of a message as its author. Believing that the Maker sometimes sent one messages and commands did not mean that one was a prophet like Andraste had been, Leliana thought with conviction.

She was deeply immersed in meditative prayer, thinking about the sacred and voicing her thoughts in a low, quiet voice, when a canine yip broke the near-silence.

Leliana smiled to herself. This was Ferelden, and someone was passing by with a mabari hound. The doors to the Chantry were open, despite the wintry conditions; the holy brazier warmed the sanctuary, and it was important to leave the heavy doors open to the old and infirm, who might be alone.

Leliana continued to pray until she realized that there was a visitor. She leaped to her feet. A young woman, certainly no older than Leliana herself and quite likely a few years younger, was walking up alone—no, not alone; she was carrying a small bundle in a blanket.

“Oh!” Leliana exclaimed. “I did not hear you approach! Forgive me.”

The woman was extremely pretty, Leliana thought as she rose to her feet—long red hair, even redder than her own, and vivid emerald eyes. But her expression was.... Leliana studied the woman’s face quickly as she reached the front of the sanctuary, calling upon her bardic talents. She was sad and angry, Leliana decided—and with that, she resolved to try to help this woman.

“No, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” the visitor said. The bundle in her arms shifted, and a complaint escaped from him. Leliana gazed across, and sure enough, it was as she had suspected—a small infant, no more than a few days old. “I was here to... well, to register my son. I suppose I should see the Revered Mother for that...?” The red-haired beauty scowled for a fraction of a second, then tried hard to erase the glower from her face.

Leliana smiled as she looked at the infant. “Oh, he is adorable,” she exclaimed. “And if you wish to see her, then of course I will fetch her, but I must tell you that she is unwell today and did not come to the Chantry. You may not wish to expose your little one to sickness in this cold, no? However, you need not delay! I can do the rite for you!”

The visitor seemed taken aback by this exuberance. She drew back ever so faintly, clutching the little boy close to her chest, green eyes darting back and forth suspiciously. _Why is she so nervous?_ Leliana wondered.

“I... suppose so, then,” the young mother said, studying Leliana. “I beg your pardon, but I don’t think I have ever seen you before.”

Leliana then realized that she had not introduced herself. _Where did my manners go?_ she thought. _Leliana the bard would be ashamed of me!_ She said at once, “I am sorry—you must think I have the worst manners in Ferelden. I am Sister Leliana. I am indeed new here.”

The visitor had smiled wryly after Leliana’s first sentence. “I am Caitlyn Hawke, and this is Malcolm.” She smiled again briefly, weakly, the anger and grief in her face melting slightly. “You came from Orlais, I guess?”

Leliana nodded. “I lived a... very different kind of life in Orlais, and I wished to retire from it to a life of peace and quiet contemplation, so I became a lay sister and came here. Your village is pretty and quaint, yes?”

“By which you must mean ‘simple and rustic,’” Caitlyn Hawke said with a wry grin.

“Oh no!” Leliana protested. It was true that Lothering was not Val Royeaux, but there was something about it, something wholesome, that the great city lacked. “There are many kinds of beauty. Something does not have to be golden and studded with gemstones to be pretty.” _You are certainly pretty,_ a rather wicked little part of her mind whispered. She pushed that aside at once. “Lothering is a very sweet little town. I like it here.” Caitlyn seemed more willing to allow a stranger to look at her child, so she peered over baby Malcolm again. He was yawning; evidently he had been sleeping in his mother’s arms. “But we have business, do we not? Come, we will take him to the sacred brazier—unless you are waiting on someone else?” she added at once. “The baby’s father?”

Caitlyn’s face returned to that sad glower at these words, and Leliana regretted mentioning it. Clearly, that was a painful subject. The world was a wicked place to women sometimes, she thought. “His father... is not here,” the young mother said.

 _Not here?_ Leliana wondered. _Meaning what? If she is a widow, surely she would have said so? Did he abandon them, then?_ She then noticed that Caitlyn’s hands were bare, not gloved despite the winter cold of southern Ferelden. _That_ was interesting. And on Caitlyn’s ring finger on her left hand, there was a silver ring with a sapphire set in it. That was the finger on which people wore wedding bands or betrothal rings, so surely this ring was one...? _But why would she wear the ring of a man who abandoned her and their son?_ Leliana wondered. _And she is clearly angry and sad about something. What is the story here?_

The bard in Leliana wanted to puzzle it out, but the Chantry sister knew it was none of her business. Caitlyn had come here to have her son officially named into the faith and registered in the Chantry, not to have her private life and past picked apart by a stranger. “Then let us do it,” Leliana said kindly.

When she accepted the infant, Leliana’s hands brushed against Caitlyn’s, and she noticed that the young mother’s hands were not even cold. In fact, they were warmer than Leliana’s, and heat radiated from them in waves, keeping the baby warm while he was in his mother’s arms outside. _Maybe it is just the warmth of the baby next to her hands...._ But another suspicion had entered Leliana’s mind.

After she declared Malcolm Hawke—named for his grandfather, Caitlyn had explained as she said the name during the ceremony—a child of the Maker and blessed him, she handed the baby back to his mother.

Two more people entered the Chantry after this. Leliana and Caitlyn turned aside. A dark-haired young man and woman walked up the aisle, and Leliana greeted them warmly.

“We’re just here for our sister,” the young man said gruffly.

Leliana smiled at Caitlyn. “You do have family,” she said. “I am glad. A new mother should not be alone.”

“My family was... sadly reduced in size last year... but I am not alone, no,” Caitlyn said heavily, bundling her baby up and holding him close as she joined her siblings.

 _Oh, so he did die,_ Leliana thought. _She wears the ring yet because of her grief and love. It would be gauche in Orlais for a noble widow to wear her ring on her hand after her husband’s death, but these people follow their hearts. I should remember that._ Compassion filled her words as she spoke. “I am sorry for your loss,” she said gently. “He... died, then? Last year? Forgive me if I am prying,” she added at once.

Caitlyn Hawke gazed at the baby as she replied. _“My_ father died last year. _His_ father is... missing.” As she stared at her child, a sudden fear filled her features, as if she regretted saying that. She gazed up, trying to master her expression. “Thank you for your kindness, Sister Leliana.”

She and her siblings left the Chantry very quickly, Leliana noted. But her curiosity was piqued, and she had to see if her guess was correct. There were many records in the town’s civil offices and in the Chantry.

* * *

As she pored through records, Leliana felt bad about doing this, but she did have a good reason. She wanted to _help_ this family, and to do that, she needed to understand their situation. It seemed that they were considered reclusive by most of the town. They lived in the woods as tenant farmers, rather than the town itself, and only occasionally mingled when they needed to purchase supplies. That struck Leliana as strange for a family with three children. A couple might prefer isolation, but to raise three children away from their peers? And to this day, they kept to themselves.

 _Not altogether,_ Leliana thought. _Caitlyn had a lover._

The Hawkes were not regular Chantry-goers, though they were known to show up sometimes, typically for important holidays. The widow, Caitlyn’s mother, had come to the Chantry in Justinian 9:27 to inform the Chantry of her husband’s decease, according to records. These records also stated that they had declared that they made their own pyre on their own farm. That was six months ago, but curiously, no one around town seemed to know _how_ Malcolm Hawke, senior—the baby’s grandfather—had died, and word of his death at all came as a surprise to most of the people whom Leliana asked. The family had kept that hushed up for half a year, for some reason. It was a rather odd degree of secrecy surrounding a death.

There were no records of a Caitlyn Hawke being married. She wore a ring, indicating she had either meant to marry her son’s father before his disappearance or that they considered themselves common-law spouses, but again, Leliana could not account for such secrecy about such an ordinary event as engagement or marriage, especially one known and approved by the family—except by one explanation.

It was a shot in the dark, but if there was a mage in the Hawke family, that could certainly explain why they kept to themselves. Leliana could not forget how abnormally warm Caitlyn’s hands were as she held her baby, even when she had been outside with no gloves on.

Leliana still thought there might be more to the story, and this theory—if it were correct—did not account for the paternity of Caitlyn’s child or why she seemed to want to keep _that_ a secret too. But she _had_ a theory now, and it was certainly worth visiting the reclusive family again to try to help them.

Andraste herself, after all, had never condemned mages as fallen from grace or cursed by the Maker. Those were the claims of people later who spoke from their own fears. The Maker’s Bride had said that magic existed to serve man. Leliana had no issue with apostates who respected the power of their gift and controlled it, using it only for good and keeping it from mastering them. That, after all, was the stated purpose of the Circles, to teach mages to control their magic—not to lock them away from the rest of the world like a pestilence.

* * *

Leliana’s visit to the Hawke cabin that evening had begun about as poorly as she had expected. Caitlyn had answered the door, recognizing Leliana at once, and had responded with extreme hostility to her presence, demanding to know what she was doing there and who else knew she had gone. Leliana, in her enthusiasm, had inadvertently made it worse.

_“I truly have come here to offer succor and... and comfort, if you wish. Perhaps even help, since you said that your child’s father was missing. I have... skills... from my life before I became a lay sister.”_

_“I don’t believe you. This is all far too convenient. And nobody does big favors for other people that they just met. What is your real agenda, sister? What else did you find out about my family?”_

In retrospect, Leliana supposed she should have known it was a bad idea to declare her interest and ability to help the Hawkes with her bard skills. But after that bit of awkwardness was passed over, with Caitlyn’s mother’s polite help, they welcomed her into their home and the atmosphere had relaxed a bit.

It was then that Leliana had learned some of the rest of the story. Two of them—Caitlyn herself and her younger sister—were indeed apostates, and their father had been too. Leliana recalled Caitlyn’s heated hands. She was casting heat for her child—whom she called Mal, Leliana learned, to differentiate him from his late grandfather.

Leliana did _not_ learn the name of baby Mal’s father, but Caitlyn had told her that evening what had happened. Her lover had been an escaped mage of the Fereldan Circle. He had lived in the Hawke cabin for half a year, and Caitlyn’s father had meant to help him escape permanently—probably something to do with destroying his phylactery.

It had not worked out that way. Instead, Malcolm Hawke had been killed by something on the road. Carver, Caitlyn’s brother, went looking for them and found his father’s body, and from what he could deduce, the escaped mage had tried to set up a pyre for his would-be father-in-law but had been captured and taken back to the Circle first.

Leliana wondered why Caitlyn was so reluctant to say his name, since she was willing to tell all of _this._ What did it matter now that Leliana knew that Caitlyn herself, her sister, and her late father were apostates? But apparently Caitlyn still felt too much pain.

“I have nightmares that they took him to the Circle Tower and made him Tranquil,” Caitlyn confessed, the final word tripping off her tongue almost reluctantly, as she acknowledged a horror that she could not stand to name.

That explained a lot. She could not know if she would ever see him again, not because she was unsure if he was dead—though that was probably a fear for her too—but because she was unsure if he had been _destroyed,_ made into a thing that looked like her lover but would never feel any love for her or his own son ever again. It was horrible, and Leliana stifled a shudder. This, then, was the fear with which Caitlyn had lived for six months. She considered the facts for a moment before replying. “This happened last summer?”

“In Justinian.”

“Then I do not think they have done that,” Leliana said, both firmness and compassion in her words. “I am not just saying that to comfort you. The Tranquil cannot lie or refuse to answer questions. If he was with you long enough to fall in love with you, they would have asked questions about his activities when they caught him. If he had no will in the matter anymore, he would have told them about you and your family by now. Whatever became of him, I do not believe it was that.”

She studied the young mage as relief filled her beautiful features. Caitlyn finally nodded, taking a shaky breath as the ghost of a smile formed.

* * *

The rest of the evening had gone better. Caitlyn’s mabari puppy, Baldwin, had taken to her. Leliana had explained her views about mages and magic, warming up the Hawkes to her presence, and had even told them about Mother Dorothea’s moderate views and the existence of her old pal Sketch. Sketch had connections to the Mages’ Collective, an organization of apostates who were trying to police their own to show that mages did not have to be locked up and watched, and this connection was what Leliana had meant when she had said that she would like to try to help Caitlyn find her lover. It would be easier to give Sketch a name, but Caitlyn was still reluctant, and so Leliana had decided simply to ask him to get information on all the adult male mages of the Fereldan Circle—if they were alive, dead, Tranquil, or missing, and if present, their Harrowing status. Caitlyn then could find his name herself. She had agreed to this, relief flooding her body at the prospect of answers, of some real thing to link her to her lost love, proof that he was still out there.

And just before that, Leliana had discovered that the youngest Hawke sibling, Bethany, could play the lute. Furthermore, Caitlyn could sing. That was ideal, and Leliana happily led them in a ballad, feeling joy fill her heart as their moods visibly lifted.

 _This is what the Maker wants His faithful to do,_ she thought happily as she finally left the Hawke cabin, _acts of charity. Harm was done to these poor people in His name, and the name of His Prophet—but I think He must have chosen me to alleviate some of that harm. I used to use my connections and talents for evil, but this is for a good purpose._

This conviction fit neatly with Leliana’s beliefs about the Maker, and as she headed back to the Chantry to write to Sketch, she felt the assurance of the good and righteous.

* * *

Over the course of that winter, Leliana visited the family from time to time, checking on them to make sure that they were still safe and well as she waited for Sketch to supply her documents. Finally, with the first blooms of spring, she received an express with the information she had requested: a status report of every living mage of Kinloch Hold. She promptly visited the Hawke cabin, hoping that this would soothe Caitlyn’s mind, but even if it contained bad news, at least that would bring her closure.

Leliana noticed that she frowned in contemplation as she read the list of names. She supposed this was probably a good sign; a status of Deceased or Tranquil beside her lover’s name would surely have triggered a breakdown. “Good news?” she asked gently.

Caitlyn rolled the scroll up, nodding, her brow still furrowed. “He is to be Harrowed in Kingsway. I... don’t know what to think of that. I have no doubt that he will pass. But he’s not missing, which means he didn’t escape again... and since he’s set to do that, he seems to have... accepted the Circle.” Caitlyn’s voice cracked.

Leliana’s heart went out to her. “But he may be biding his time. He may have decided that his best chance of getting out is to become an Enchanter and get an outside assignment. What is his specialty?”

“He’s a Healer, and a very good one.”

“Then they may wish to assign him to serve a noble. They rarely keep good Healers in the Circle, because the nobility pay well for those skills. I am sure he will write to you if that happens. That may be his plan.”

Even as she offered the explanation, Leliana wondered how well that would actually work in this case. Caitlyn was also a mage, making it almost certain that Mal would be one, and a Circle Healer could not claim the little boy as his own anyway, since the Chantry took the children of Circle mages. He could not, realistically, have his family with him as a Healer serving a noble house. Leliana’s heart burned in pain at the fact that it was the Maker’s own institution that was destroying innocent families and making it so difficult for them to be together, unless they hid, as the Hawkes had done. But... he had escaped before, and getting out of the Circle on an official assignment would make it that much easier to just run away again and be an apostate. That was likely his plan, Leliana concluded.

Caitlyn nodded. “I... suppose so. Kingsway, though... that’s a long time off. I just wanted him to see our child while he’s still a baby, and if it takes that long, I don’t know if he can.” Her voice cracked again.

Leliana’s heart broke for her. “For what it is worth, I am sorry that this has been done to you—to all of you.”

Caitlyn gave her a hug. “Thank you—for everything you have done.”

* * *

During spring, Caitlyn finally opened up in earnest and told Leliana more of her family’s background and her personal history. Her mother was the daughter of a Kirkwall nobleman and her father was Fereldan, but sent to the Kirkwall Circle.

Leliana could tell that Caitlyn was lonely. Caitlyn herself admitted that she had had few friends in her life, as someone who needed to keep her talents a secret. As acts of rebellion and fear-challenge, she had kissed a couple of boys and one girl before her whirlwind romance with her child’s father, but he had been her first and only lover.

 _She kissed a girl,_ Leliana thought when Caitlyn told her that little detail. _She is not attracted exclusively to men._ But Leliana instantly scolded herself for this thought and its implication. Caitlyn was still very much in love with her missing Circle mage lover.

 _As well she should be,_ Leliana thought. He had left her with his mother’s ring—that was the provenance of the sapphire band—and a promise that he would return and officially propose. In Leliana’s view, that _was_ an engagement. The romance would have been intense for someone with Caitlyn’s background—and its end, especially under such tragic and uncertain circumstances, would have been devastating. He had not left her willingly, and he had not died, nor been made Tranquil. Of course she still loved him.

His name was Anders, Leliana now knew. Caitlyn had finally managed to voice it, apparently comforted with the knowledge that he was alive and well. Leliana was glad that she was able to speak of him freely now and to talk about what had happened. It further reinforced her belief that the Maker had sent her to help this family heal, that this was part of her atonement.

In Wintermarch 9:27, he had stopped in the woods because of a blizzard. Caitlyn and her father had saved him from an attack by blight wolves and sheltered him, and he had decided to stay as Malcolm’s apprentice. He and Caitlyn had fallen hard for each other, becoming lovers in two months. They had not planned to have a baby, but they had been happy to start a family. Mal had a middle name, _Anders,_ which Caitlyn had not wanted in Chantry records.

Leliana wondered how he could have lived in the cabin for so long, but Caitlyn explained that anyone inside the structure was protected from Templar detection by the family wards. Her father had done something for the Grey Wardens long ago, while her mother was still pregnant with Caitlyn, and it had involved the use of wards that recognized his kin and opened for no one else. He had taught the spell to Caitlyn and she had actually cast it, so that the Hawkes’ mother could enter the house without needing someone with Hawke blood to open it for her. Although the Templar who had helped him and Mistress Hawke marry carried his phylactery out of the Kirkwall Circle, he had adapted the warding spell to scramble any attempts to use the implements to track mages, just in case there was a second, secret one.

This also blocked the Templars’ attempts to track Anders, it turned out. However, a Templar holding his phylactery _could_ detect him if he went outdoors. Caitlyn’s father had thought to bait the Templars of Kinloch Hold into pursuing him, hopefully carrying his phylactery with them to aid in tracking, and then they would overpower them—not taking lives if they could help it—and get the artifact away to be destroyed for good. From there, the family had planned to leave Lothering.

It had been a good enough plan, Leliana conceded, and it was a terrible shame that it had not worked. Leliana wondered what had killed the elder Hawke, since Templars had not done it... but the Hawkes could not say, and his body was long turned to ash.

Caitlyn had assured Leliana that Anders had known full well that he was going to be a father. He was locked in a tower, knowing that his lover and child were out there. It was a romantic tragedy, and the minstrel in Leliana thought it would have been beautiful in a sad way—but only if it had involved characters, or people long dead. It would have been a lovely ballad. It was not quite so lovely as the living reality of her best friend and her son.

Yes, Leliana realized—Caitlyn Hawke _was_ her best friend. She had been slow to open up, which was understandable, but now that she had, they were friends. It was so _nice_ to have a friend who was honest— _well, except for being a secret apostate,_ Leliana thought, _but who can blame her for that?—_ and _innocent._ Caitlyn was direct, forthright, sincere, and could sometimes verge on rudeness even without meaning it... she had a fiery temper, Leliana knew by now... but there was a certain innocence to her. She was not deceitful, and it was very refreshing to Leliana to be friends with someone who did not play the Game. It was another happy, wholesome aspect of her new life in Lothering. _The Maker did send me here,_ she thought.

Leliana tried to shut the door on this thought whenever it entered her mind, but she found Caitlyn _very_ attractive, and she had a tendency to fall for her friends whether they were objectively beautiful or not. As she became closer to the young apostate, and watched her little son’s hair turn strawberry blond and his eyes settle on hazel—both colors a mix between Caitlyn’s and how she described Anders’, Leliana thought—she kept having thoughts enter her mind involving seeing the rest of Caitlyn’s beautiful body, magic between the sheets, bringing comfort to this woman, helping her to raise her child, and setting off on a new path for them both that would heal their hurts—

 _Enough. She is still in love with him and has every right to be,_ Leliana thought firmly, _and every right to want to wait for his return. It would be unreasonable to expect her to look for love with someone else when he was taken from her in such a way. He was her first lover, too, first and only, but what is more important than that is that they loved each other and were torn apart unwillingly—but not by death. She has no ending. She cannot move on without an ending, and I should not hope for her to receive one._

* * *

Dragon 9:28 was growing old, and Leliana was ready to return to the Hawke cottage with an update from Sketch—this time one that Leliana herself could understand, since Caitlyn had asked her to make the inquiry about a single mage rather than all of them. She had also given Leliana permission to open whatever message Sketch sent her. Kingsway, the month of his scheduled Harrowing, was long past, but Anders had not shown up in Lothering again. That could not mean anything good, and Caitlyn preferred that Leliana break it to her, whatever it was.

When Leliana opened the message and read it, however, she did not know _what_ to make of what it contained. She decided to let her friend decide.

“It’s probably not what you fear,” she told the young apostate, “but... Sketch passed word to me that he’s still listed as residing in the tower at Kinloch Hold, despite having passed his Harrowing and becoming an Enchanter.” She smiled weakly as Mal toddled up. He was growing so fast. “I... must confess that this is not the news I expected to hear from Sketch,” she admitted as they sat down. “I have never heard of a Healer being denied the opportunity to serve Ferelden after the Harrowing. Are you certain that he would not have specialized in anything else? Something that, perhaps, he would need to stay in the Circle tower to research?”

Caitlyn considered for a moment. “He could do some elemental magic,” she said, “but yes, I’m certain that he would have specialized in healing. I was just thinking about this, Leliana,” she added with a scowl. “He’s not coming back because he doesn’t _want_ to come back.”

Leliana did not like the sudden dark anger in her voice. “I don’t think—”

Caitlyn took Leliana’s hands in hers. “I should have faced it long ago. He escaped many times before he met me. He even made it to Denerim more than once. He has a _son_ out here, Leliana, and yet he hasn’t managed it this time. What does that imply? He has remained in the tower because there is something—or, more likely, some _one,_ or perhaps even more than one ‘someone’—that he finds more compelling.”

Leliana’s heart thumped at the contact. Caitlyn was awfully intense right now, and it did not seem entirely chaste to her. However, something about this raised alarms. She did not want to be used to slake someone’s anger at someone else, and it seemed that Caitlyn might be trying to do this. “You say that because you are angry,” she managed shakily. “I know it is your nature to find solace in anger, but....”

“I’m saying it because it’s the only explanation that fits—unless you have another one?” Caitlyn stared hard at Leliana, green orbs locked with blue ones. “If he wanted an outside appointment, surely he could get one, could he not?”

“I presumed so, but perhaps, if he made the Templars angry enough....”

Caitlyn sighed. “You just keep giving me hope.”

Leliana smiled at her, feeling relief. “Would you prefer that I did not?”

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” Caitlyn said heavily.

Leliana’s eyes widened as she realized that Caitlyn was serious. This was not spite. Caitlyn was not moving on her in order to figuratively stick a middle finger at her absent Anders. She had given up. She felt lost and abandoned, with a fatherless child to raise alone. It was sincere, like most else about her. Leliana felt shame wash over her as she realized that she had been thinking in terms of the Game—and the deceit of Marjolaine.

“I’ve appreciated everything you have done,” Caitlyn continued. “I’m glad you were able to find proof that he wasn’t dead or Tranquil. Even if he doesn’t want to be with me, I’m glad that he is alive and well. But I just feel now that the hopes you’re giving me are false ones and I would be better off accepting....” She trailed off. “It’s unhealthy for me to obsess over him for this long.”

“You were in love with him,” Leliana said gently.

“Love doesn’t always last,” Caitlyn replied. Leliana looked up sharply, surprised at how dark, harsh, and embittered her friend sounded. Yes, this was sincere. What had happened to her? _Have I failed her?_ Leliana thought. _I never meant to. What do You want me to do for her, Maker?_

“He has been gone for a year and a half,” Caitlyn continued. “He’s in that tower, apparently safe, but we can’t devise any reason why he wouldn’t leave if he wanted—so what’s the logical explanation? That’s _not_ what he wants.” She sighed heavily. “You were a bard. You must know better than anyone that people are fickle, their emotions easily changeable, their promises often worthless.” Caitlyn twisted the ring on her finger, glowering into space.

Leliana’s heart was pounding, and her mind was whirling. It hurt her to hear Caitlyn speak this way, with such darkness and anger in her words. This was not how Leliana would have wanted things to end for her friend. She had been so sure that the Maker was using her to help bring hope to this woman. That was the right way to see it, that Leliana was to help someone altruistically, without hope or expectation of personal reward. The Maker wanted His children to perform selfless acts of charity. Andraste had made the ultimate sacrifice, after all. It could not be, surely, that the Maker actually wanted her to help Caitlyn by taking the place of her lover.

“You are speaking in anger and spite,” Leliana finally said. She did not want to discuss this further tonight; she needed to pray before acting further. “I understand why, but I cannot join you in this. I will leave you for the night. Please think on what I have said, though.”

* * *

Leliana made one more with inquiry with Sketch to find out whatever he could about why Anders was in the tower, but this turned up nothing. He was in Kinloch Hold, Harrowed, alive and well, no outside assignment, but the elven apostate could get no information about why this was the case. Leliana carried this information back to Caitlyn in Dragon 9:29 with a heavy heart, aware that it would harden her friend’s dark resolve and resentment—but what was to be done? It was possible that Caitlyn was correct. Leliana was not wholly convinced; Anders had apparently amassed a long track record of escaping, and it might have offended the Templars enough to lock him up despite being a Healer and a Harrowed Enchanter. But she could not prove that.

After Leliana carried that word to her, Caitlyn stopped wearing her ring. She also cut her hair. It had trailed down her back, but suddenly, Leliana had to get used to seeing her friend with hair almost short enough to be a pixie cut, almost as if Caitlyn were trying to look more like Leliana herself.

Mal was speaking his first words now. He was able to say “Mama,” and he was quickly sounding out words for the other members of his family. “Uncaba” was Uncle Carver. “Ga” was his grandmother. “Abeffy” was Aunt Bethany. _He should have had a word for his father,_ Leliana thought in pain—but there was no help for it. Caitlyn was having to raise him by herself—well, by herself with the help of her family.

 _Perhaps the Maker did send me here to be there for her,_ Leliana thought. Increasingly she was allowing herself that thought. _Perhaps He wanted me here because Anders would not come back and He wanted Caitlyn and Mal to have me. He must have sent me to Lothering for some reason. He placed me here for a purpose, I just know it. What was it? Was this truly it, Maker?_

Leliana was thinking about this, playing her lute and hoping that the Maker would send her guidance, when a knock sounded on her door.

* * *

“Oh!” Leliana exclaimed when she opened the door and faced a familiar red-haired apostate. Mal was not with her; the boy must be with his extended family. “I am surprised to see you here!”

“I hope my visit is not unwelcome, though.”

“Of course not! Please come in.” She extended her hand to Caitlyn, feeling the tingle and warmth. _Maker, if this is the sign I asked for—_ She broke off that thought. Whatever happened, she would not blame the Maker for it. “So,” she said, “what has brought you here today?” Her heart thumped as she was certain she knew already.

“You don’t know? After a year, you don’t know?” Caitlyn smirked. “How were you ever a bard?”

“I do not want to be presumptuous. And I do not want you to do anything that you will regret.”

Caitlyn glowered. She held out her left hand, bereft of a ring. “Notice anything different? I’m not going to live in the past any longer.”

Leliana took Caitlyn’s hand compassionately. “I care for you. I don’t want you to suffer additional pain. Please, think about this before you take it any farther. Be sure that it is what you want, and that you want it for the right reasons.”

Caitlyn glanced down, swallowing hard. “I won’t rush,” she said softly. “I rushed with _him,_ and look where that got me.”

 _And here it comes. She mentions him immediately. Maker, please, let me know what You want—and her. How can I be certain that I am the one she truly wants when she brings up another?_ “You regret it?” she managed.

“I... don’t know,” Caitlyn said. “I am glad that Mal was born. If Anders returned.... It doesn’t matter. He won’t.”

Leliana was panicking now. _“If he returned”... then what, Caitlyn? You would leave me for him?_ Suddenly she knew, she _knew,_ that this was a mistake.

But Caitlyn leaned in, warmth and passion in her face, and her next words chased these fears from Leliana’s mind. “I just... care about you. I never thought, after everything that happened, that I could care about someone in the Chantry.” She reached for Leliana’s face, caressing her cheek.

Leliana shivered, closing her eyes. It had been so long since someone had loved her—but no, Marjolaine had never loved her. Marjolaine had _used_ her, betrayed her, and been done with her. _And Caitlyn will be done with me too if he ever returns,_ Leliana thought in a renewed panic. _She does not intend deceit and falsehood, nor will she intend betrayal, but this is what will happen. I am trained as a bard. I have seen more of the mortal heart than I would like. As she said herself, I have seen its fickleness._

 _However angry she might be to think of him, that is a coping mechanism. She does love him. She will never truly be able to move on from him and give her heart fully to another unless she hears something that ends it. If he is still alive, well, and wanting to be with her and Mal, but cannot get free, then someday he might succeed, and then she will choose him. The only way I can truly have her is if he dies, or is made Tranquil, or returns and they end the relationship for good. How can I wish any of that to happen?_ In that moment, Leliana’s conviction was total. She should send Caitlyn away, as much as it would hurt her to do it. The pain that would come in the future if she didn’t do it would be worse.

_But then what? I think the Maker sent me to help her and her child... but how?_

Caitlyn was still speaking as she caressed Leliana’s cheek, a heat spell at her fingertips. It was a thrilling sensation to Leliana in spite of the part of her that was screaming at her to send Caitlyn out of the room and pick up the pieces later. She was talking about the Chantry and the Maker, her own occasional doubts and anger at those who claimed to act in the Maker’s name but did evil things.

It was, Leliana had to admit, exactly how she felt herself, as she agreed, carrying on the conversation while her mind whirled. How could she end this friendship? For ended it would be if she turned Caitlyn out. And after all, she had felt attraction to Caitlyn before the apostate had felt it for her. Perhaps this _was_ all right.

“You are different from them,” the mage finished, grinning.

_So help me, I need to be loved, and I need the love of a person, not just that of the Maker. Caitlyn loves me. For now, she wants me. She means it. She has not lied to me. Even her hint about “if Anders returned” is honest. She has never lied... or if so, it is because she deceived herself too. It has been so, so long since I was with anyone who meant it, who wasn’t just using my body as part of the Game—as I was using theirs. She is not using me to dull her pain; her anger has done that. And if I am wrong, if my fears are correct, I will still have the love of the Maker after she is gone._

Caitlyn leaned in, capturing Leliana’s lips in a hard, intense kiss. Leliana’s blue eyes widened in surprise; she had not expected such intensity from someone with so much less sexual experience than she herself.

She threaded her fingers into Leliana’s sunset-orange hair, drawing the bard close. Leliana was equally surprised by this, but she allowed it, closing her eyes and allowing Caitlyn’s eager tongue to plunder her mouth. There was a kind of needy desperation in the mage’s kiss, which didn’t surprise Leliana. _She needs to be loved again too,_ she thought as she finally began to give back as good as Caitlyn was giving her.

Suddenly she had an epiphany. _All this time, I have been asking the Maker for guidance to preserve my own heart. I haven’t thought about what she needs. A relationship is about two people. And... perhaps... I have been too afraid to love again because of what Marjolaine did to me. I have been thinking of her betrayal all along. Caitlyn is not like that. Most people have had previous relationships, after all. I just have treated Caitlyn’s differently because she had a child from it, her lover left and didn’t come back instead of ending it verbally, and it was her only one—until now!_ she concluded joyously.

Caitlyn’s fingers trailed down Leliana’s scalp to the exposed back of her neck. Suddenly she felt a surprise, as she realized that Caitlyn had cast a mild fire spell, or a strong heat spell. She drew back sharply and gazed at the laughing eyes of the apostate.

“Has a mage ever done anything like that to you before?”

Leliana suppressed the unhappy thought that surfaced at this question. “Would you not love to know?” she teased back.

“I would, actually. I’ve heard—my father told me—that Orlesian nobles often had mages in their households.”

“It is true,” Leliana said, “and—if you must know—I have experienced, not heat, but... frost.” Her smile wavered as she hoped Caitlyn would not notice.

“And which do you prefer?”

“Hmm.” She paused, pushing the shameful memory out of her head while making Caitlyn think that it was a hard question to answer. “It is a tough choice, but—the warmth of sincerity is better than coldness of the Game, no?”

“Good.”

Caitlyn opened her palm, and Leliana’s eyes widened at the sight of flames before her. They were small and harmless, tinier than the flicker of a candle, but they were real. She took a short, sudden breath as she fumbled with the buttons on her dress.

 _This is a room at the Chantry,_ she thought as she unbuttoned her clothes. _This is not...._ But she quickly set that thought aside. She had taken no vows of celibacy, and these _were_ her personal quarters. They were not holy ground. Leliana had certainly pleasured _herself_ here before. There was no sin in this.

Caitlyn watched greedily as Leliana undressed herself, the tiny flames, each one no longer and wider than the size of a sewing needle, forming on her palm and vanishing in the air. She eyed Leliana’s breasts in desire, involuntarily touching her own with her other, flame-free hand. They were about the same size; although she had recently been nursing and had only lost her pregnancy weight about four months ago, Caitlyn was a small-figured person naturally.

“I’ve never seen another woman nude,” she admitted, the flames vanishing. “Well... all right, my little sister, when we were children in the bath, but....” She broke off awkwardly. “I just killed the mood, didn’t I?”

Leliana laughed. “You are too honest and direct for your own good sometimes, Caitlyn Hawke,” she teased.

“It’s been said.” A wry smile formed on the mage’s face. “You know what I mean, though. I’ve... I’ve never been with a woman before. Just... _him.”_

Leliana did not want her going down that rabbit hole right now. “Fortunately, I have,” she said, a smirk spreading across her face. “Shall I begin, then?”

Caitlyn snapped open the top button of her blouse and stared at Leliana with a fierce expression of desire in her green eyes. “You do that.” She popped another button, then another.

In a minute, she had shed her blouse and trousers. She unlaced her boots and tossed them to the floor, clad only in her smalls now—and as she climbed onto Leliana’s bed, she pulled these off too. Leliana’s gaze instantly traveled down her body. _She is just as beautiful as I thought,_ the bard thought, _and what a figure!_ If not for the stretch marks and hips that were just slightly too wide for the apostate’s small frame, there would have been no way to guess that Caitlyn Hawke had given birth. Her abdominal muscles were flat and toned.

“You are so beautiful,” Leliana whispered, pulling Caitlyn down atop her and caressing her breasts, her flat belly, her hips.... As Caitlyn’s arms settled around Leliana’s shoulders, Leliana’s dexterous fingers traveled rapidly down her body to settle in the dark red patch of hair between her legs. Maker have mercy, but she was wet. _She does want this,_ Leliana thought. _She wants me. No one else. Me._

A moan escaped the mage—and then Leliana remembered that she _was,_ in fact, a mage. Twin jolts of heat pulsed into her shoulders. She shook, startled, and withdrew her fingers from Caitlyn’s core without intending it.

The mage laughed wickedly. A truly sinful gleam formed in her emerald eyes—and before Leliana could respond, she had pinned her down, spreading Leliana’s legs forcibly. She gazed fiercely at Leliana in one second, and then in the next, she was planting kisses in a rapid trail down Leliana’s body, each one slightly heavier and stronger than the previous one. Her fingers, still with heat and the ghosts of flames at their tips, drew circles across Leliana’s body as she moved inexorably toward the bard’s sensitive core. Leliana began to tremble from the combination of sensuality and magic.

How in the Maker’s name had she known to do this without a female lover before? Had Anders done it to her; was that how? Leliana shoved that aside, not wanting anyone else in their bed right now even in her own imagination. _Perhaps some of it is from doing it to herself,_ she thought—but she could not focus on a concrete thought for too long right now, nor, she realized, did she care how Caitlyn knew to do this. What mattered were the incredible sensations, and the fact that this was for _her._

Caitlyn continued, her kisses finally stopping at the level of Leliana’s hips, as her heated fingers—Leliana tried to draw her legs together in surprise at the sensation—slid between the bard’s dripping folds. She seemed hesitant to use her mouth, as if doubting her skill at something she’d never done to a woman before, but she continued to kiss and whisper professions of love as the fingers on one hand slid back and forth and the ones on her other hand pressed against Leliana’s clitoris in between thrusts of her magically heated fingers....

In a few minutes, the combination of Caitlyn’s two hands brought her to a sudden, shaking climax. She let out a cry that was almost musical as her legs trembled and shook, the mage holding her tightly in place as she rode the wave.

At last, Leliana came back to herself. _That’s done,_ she thought, a curiously singular thing to think right now, but so it was. _No going back from it._ She felt oddly relieved—then considered her lover _._

Caitlyn was gazing at her eagerly, and she was visibly wet in the candlelight of the small room. A wicked smirk formed on Leliana’s face. “That was wonderful,” she praised, “and now—turnabout is fair play, apostate.”

Caitlyn’s eyes widened at that—and was it just Leliana’s imagination, or did she actually grow more flushed and even wetter at the words? Leliana did not think she imagined it. _So she likes wicked talk,_ she thought gleefully. _Lovely._

“A Chantry sister and an apostate mage,” Caitlyn managed. “Scandalous.”

Leliana smirked back at her. “Indeed.” She considered for a moment. It had been a while since she had used her martial talents... she had not done it except to train since she had fled Marjolaine, which... she realized... would have been around the same time that Caitlyn was left alone, the middle of Dragon 9:27. As she realized that, it seemed like fate that they should be together.

She did not wait. In a flash, before Caitlyn could react, Leliana had grabbed her around the waist and flipped her over onto her back, even as she herself mounted her. It was a switch from the position that they had been in moments ago. But there was a gleeful, reckless desire in Leliana’s face now. It had been _so long_ since she had had a _real_ partner—Marjolaine didn’t count anymore—and she was going to enjoy this. _She was good, but I’ll show her how it’s done. Another bard skill that I will put to better use._

Without hesitation, she descended on Caitlyn Hawke with a vengeance. The mage exclaimed in surprise as Leliana’s skilled fingers danced across her body, stopping at her most sensitive zones out of almost preternatural awareness that they were so—or was Leliana herself so observant that she could detect the subtle changes in Caitlyn’s expression and her muscle tension as Leliana moved from one spot to another on her body?

She was already shaking, and magic was escaping her hands in occasional bursts of tiny flame—fire, it seemed, was her most instinctive spell—when Leliana reached her dripping core. With another wicked look, the bard moved on her, her hands pushing Caitlyn’s legs apart as she descended on her to lap her up, fingers ghosting their way to the center of the action and slipping easily inside her.

In a few minutes, she was holding a pillow over her face, trying to muffle her shouts while not igniting the pillow with an accidental burst of magic. Leliana dutifully kissed her clitoris as she drew away.

 _That was all for me,_ she thought in satisfaction.

* * *

In the afterglow, Leliana gazed at Caitlyn as she snoozed. The feelings of panic and guilt were still lurking, she knew, but they were suppressed now. Caitlyn had seemed awfully enthusiastic, and hope had entered Leliana’s mind. Perhaps Caitlyn really _had_ moved on. She had been so insistent....

_“You must know better than anyone that people are fickle, their emotions easily changeable, their promises often worthless.”_

Caitlyn had been speaking of Anders then, and Leliana had attributed the words to spite and that self-defensive shield of anger that Caitlyn so often used, but what if... what if she had also been speaking of herself and her _own_ emotions? What if she had said this because she herself felt it?

_If he is alive and well in this world, surely he deserves the chance to meet his son and be in Mal’s life...._

Leliana banished that thought. There was nothing she could do about it. The former apostate had not been in Lothering since the middle of Dragon 9:27, two years ago. He might not return. It was also distinctly possible that if he did return, Caitlyn really would choose _her_ after all, and simply allow Mal to visit his father—assuming that Anders could find a way to settle safely and securely nearby, avoiding Templar scrutiny, which itself seemed improbable.

 _Stop thinking about it,_ Leliana chastised herself. _You are inventing problems. You are afraid that she will choose him, leave you, because of Marjolaine and the betrayal that she inflicted on you before. You assume everyone else is false, either to you or to themselves. Caitlyn may not be. She has hidden her magic, but otherwise she is not deceitful. In fact, she is brutally honest. Her anger is certainly real and it might have become profound enough that it has chased Anders out of her heart. That leaves space for me._

Leliana had had one other... bed partner, she supposed... who was a mage, a Circle Enchanter who had been sent to serve the household of an Orlesian comte. Leliana had been working for the comte’s chief rival then and had needed to seduce the Healer to persuade her to betray her patients’ privacy. In the woozy, blissful afterglow, the mage had revealed that the man had advanced syphilis that was beyond a simple blast of healing magic and medicinal potions for a cure. It had permanently damaged his mind, and the Healer had to treat him periodically to hide it. Leliana’s patron had been so _delighted_ to hear this when Leliana reported back... and the comte’s fall had occurred not long after....

Leliana burned with shame at the memory.

She glanced again at Caitlyn Hawke. _There is no deceit in this,_ she thought, comforting herself. _We care for each other and have been honest with each other. It is a true relationship, not a treacherous abuse of our Maker-given capacity to love. This is real._

Caitlyn shifted in her sleep, apparently experiencing an intense dream in the Fade. Leliana hated to wake her, but she could not stay here all day. She had a child at home. She moved to nudge her awake—her fingers brushed Caitlyn’s cheek—

_“Anders.”_

Leliana froze as the word, painful as the shiv of a blade, passed through her ears and her mind. Her smile vanished.

_She is asleep. She is in the Fade. This isn’t deliberate. She...._

_Mages are said to be conscious in the Fade. They can control their dreams. She said that consciously and she’ll remember it._

Caitlyn stretched awake. She looked utterly joyous for a moment—and then that moment passed.

Suppressing the pain that she felt, Leliana smiled compassionately at her. “Are you all right, love?”

Caitlyn sat upright and reached for her blouse. She smiled at Leliana, but it seemed forced to her. _Or do I think that because of what I heard her say? Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe I am still looking for deceit everywhere, and in everyone, because of Marjolaine...._

“I’m fine. Just had a... well, a dream I’d rather forget, that’s all.” She pulled the blouse on and stepped out of bed to get her trousers. “I should go home. But... we will do this again, won’t we?” She gazed pleadingly at Leliana.

In that moment, Leliana could not say no. What was a cry from a sleeper compared to the sincere hope of a fully awake and conscious person?

“Of course we will,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Leliana. Poor Hawke too, but it’ll be okay for both of them eventually. I’ve written Hawke’s story, and now I will tell how it gets better for Leliana. This chapter helped me to reflect seriously on how messed up Leliana is because of her experience as a bard, seeing nothing but deceit and betrayal, but also her yearning for faith, hope, and meaning.
> 
> I am writing Lel as bi with a _heavy_ lean for women in this fic. She can be romanced by M!Warden, and presumably had sexual experiences with men as a bard, but I’m not counting most of her bard work as evidence of sexual orientation. The only canon loving (on her side) relationship that she _always_ has, regardless of player, is with Marjolaine, and then in _DA:I_ people make sly comments about her and Justinia (which I do not believe, but the point is that people pick up on something about her that they don’t about Cassandra).
> 
> Finally, I’d better address this issue now, and this specific note is for readers who dislike Anders and/or his cause. You’re not going to see me writing a fic where one half of a lesbian couple thinks about a man all the time in the first place, least of all one she hasn’t met! She will think about _Hawke_ later, but in the context of the Blight. I figure that’s okay. She thinks about Marjolaine in canon. On the other hand, there is one canon _DA:O_ game quest where, in this particular AU, it’s basically unavoidable that he’ll be mentioned. If you dislike him, well, uh... just keep in mind that there’s no reason why _Leliana_ would. Last, I want to be clear that this story is _not_ about mage-Templar-Chantry politics. I’ve already written that; I don’t need to write it again. Leliana is sympathetic to Circle reform, and Elissa is open-minded and will become a pragmatist about the value of magic when the Blight strikes. That’s the extent of it. This AU back story ties in with a character development arc for Leliana that intersects with her canon arc with Marjolaine, but it won’t take over the fic.
> 
> Next chapter is Elissa POV again.


	7. Restless Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading and supporting this fic! We are now in the _DA:O_ timeline.
> 
> You’ll see some game dialogue towards the end in this chapter. I don’t know how everyone generally feels about that. For my part, I try to include some for scenes that are canon (or close enough), out of respect to the source material, especially when I like a specific bit of dialogue or don’t think I could do it better myself. But I also like to add a _lot_ of my own material, and all bets are of course off when I go fully AU with something. There will be less game dialogue in the scenes with Elissa’s interactions with Leliana and her other companions, and I’ve already made some special modifications even to what is in this chapter, to account for things that happened in the story.

_Dragon 9:30, Highever._

The patter of galloping feet burst through the humid air. Elissa crouched as her year-old mabari, Oscar, bounded toward her. A wan smile formed on her face at the sight of the dog. He, too, seemed to smile every time he saw her. He was certainly happy. That, she did not even need to be a ranger to know.

Not that she used that talent anymore. She still felt the pull of wolves, and they often appeared where she trekked, but she never tugged on the mystical mental link to summon them to do her bidding. She certainly never tried to bond with any of them. Five years after Faolin’s brutal end, it was still too painful to think of that befalling another one because of her. _Let them live free in the woods, as the Maker intended,_ she thought sadly. _I will only get them killed if I call them to me. They’re wild creatures. My dog, however...._

The tan-colored dog reached her, barking cheerfully, slowing down so as to not knock her over, as she hugged and scratched his ears. He’d had something between his jaws, she noted, which had become dislodged as he began to bark. Elissa reached over to pick up the quail that she had shot and he had retrieved.

“You’re such a good boy,” she cooed at Oscar, who barked in agreement with this assessment. “And for not gobbling up any of my quail, I might let you have a piece when they’re cooked!”

The mabari seemed to understand, as he began to pant and saliva formed on his exposed gums. Elissa chuckled again as she put the bird into her game bag.

She had imprinted on him as a puppy last year, just before her parents left on a diplomatic visit to Val Royeaux on the king’s behalf. They had wanted her to go—Fergus and Oriana needed to be at home to take care of their son, Oren—but she had declined. They had then, with mild exasperation and serious concern at her increasing disinclination to leave the Storm Coast, urged her to visit the kennels where a mabari had a few months ago had a litter of puppies. She had gone to humor them, not expecting anything to come of it.

Instead she had walked out of the kennel with an excited, cheerful young dog following behind her, the first Cousland to have an imprinted mabari since her parents had fought in the Rebellion. It was far better than a visit to Orlais.

Meeting Empress Celene might have been an interesting experience, she supposed, but she had no desire to be presented at the Orlesian Imperial Court. It wasn’t that she feared the Game—in fact, she found that she was developing a keen interest in politics, though _Fereldan_ politics—and her father said that she seemed to have a natural knack for deciphering others’ political schemes. He had come back from the Landsmeet last year and told her all that had happened, and she had instantly been able to figure out the undercurrents. He was so proud when he told her that... he really had wanted her to go to Val Royeaux... but that same keen mind for political import had known that the Empress or her rivals would try to matchmake. She was the highest-ranked young unmarried noble in Ferelden now, in the absence of a prince or princess from Cailan and Anora even after five years of marriage. Since Ferelden and Orlais appeared to be getting on better terms, she knew that she would be a valuable “prize” to any Orlesian nobleman who either wanted to shore up Celene’s campaign of diplomacy or challenge her.

Her parents had returned from Orlais in a couple of months, very concerned about news that they had heard there. A Grey Warden of Orlais named Riordan was at Court, and he seemed concerned that a Blight might be coming soon, though he would not say whether he thought it would erupt in Ferelden or Orlais. It had been four hundred years since the Fourth Blight.

Elissa was quite good now at eavesdropping and stealth. She could slip into shadowy corners, listen behind doors, and even duck into the tiny, well-concealed secret rooms in Highever that she had discovered a couple of years ago. These little closet-sized spaces were accessible from hidden trapdoors on the floors above and pop-out back panels of wardrobes—and one was right next to her parents’ bedroom, appearing to be part of the massive chimney flue. But there was a hairline gap in the stonework, obviously intended for listening. Not long after her parents had repeated the news from the Orlesian Warden, she had slipped into this tight little space to hear more. They were concerned indeed.

_“Would a Grey Warden lie about the Blight under any circumstances, even—potentially—to play the Game at the Orlesian Court?” Eleanor mused._

_“It’s not impossible,” Bryce said. “Anyone can lie. Knights lie. Honor is an ideal and aspiration and no title bestows it where it doesn’t exist.”_

_“Thank you for that lesson, Ser.”_

_Bryce chuckled. “Sorry, my love. But if it were just one Warden... yes, it could be a lie.”_

_Eleanor paused before speaking again. “So it’s not just one Warden. You spoke to another.”_

_“I did,” he confirmed. “When we went back to Denerim to pass on the Empress’s letters to Cailan, I had a quick moment with Duncan, the Warden-Commander. He said he’s had reports of activity in the south. Someone he knows told him two years ago about Tainted wolves attacking a traveler in the forest near Lothering, and a Tainted bear near his home. He hasn’t heard from that fellow in almost as long, either, and fears he might be dead now.”_

_“Who?” Eleanor said, alarm in her words. “A farmer? A woodsman? Lothering is Bann Ceorlic, but he is a cosseted fool who knows nothing about wildlife or nature. I wouldn’t trust the word of someone who couldn’t tell the difference between a Blighted animal and one that was just ill.”_

_“Duncan didn’t say who, but it was someone he trusts. I gathered it was someone who worked for the Grey Wardens before, years ago, and is, yes, now a farmer or something. Or was, two years ago,” he said darkly. “It sounded legitimate to me, Eleanor. I don’t like it—I don’t want it to be true either—but I fear it is. We need to be prepared.”_

_Eleanor paused again. “Then Maker grant that it doesn’t strike Ferelden and that these attacks near Lothering are just stragglers from somewhere else. This country is still recovering from the war.”_

That was almost a year ago. Now, there were reports each day of Tainted things—darkspawn or ghouls—massing in the Chasind lands, south of the old fortress of Ostagar. It was frightening and disturbing to Elissa, but—and she would never admit this to her family—there was also something exciting about it. It meant war, and not a tiresome, unpopular one, but a war that could unite the nation against a common threat like nothing had since Maric united the demoralized and dispossessed against the Orlesian occupiers. With that kind of conflict came opportunities. Teyrn Loghain himself had risen to a high title because of valor in war. It was the story of many a noble family. And although she was already of noble blood, the conflict also could provide an opportunity for her to make a name for herself in her own right, by her own skills—and maybe, just maybe, even to find another woman who was like her.

She rose to her feet, dusted herself off, and headed back to Highever Castle. She supposed she could dress the birds herself and make a fire out here, but her parents had been concerned about her habits of staying close to home for so long and worried when she was by herself. It was true enough, she supposed.

She had not attended the annual Landsmeet since that dark day in Dragon 9:25. She’d had no desire to go, because the Kendells would be there, and it would recall the terrible day that she’d lost her dear companion wolf and feared for her body and her life. She had not been to Amaranthine either, telling her parents whenever they paid a visit to Arl Howe that she could not be expected to be in the presence of Tommy Howe again. They had agreed and not pressed it. And she had not gone to Orlais.

Elissa knew that they were worried about her. She had eavesdropped on them to hear them say that she was still depressed from the “event” of five years ago, and that neither of them knew what to do to help her recover.

_I’m all right, really,_ she thought as Oscar bounded beside her, keeping pace with her.  _I have made the most that I can of the past five years. They were certainly less traumatic to me than the five that came before them._

It was true. Although she had hardly traveled, being near home more had kept her life and her emotional condition relatively stable, with no tragedies. She had not had a relationship as serious as the one with Siobhan Dedrick had been, but there had been a few women in and out of her life since then.

The village of Highever entered Elissa’s line of sight through a break in the trees, bringing them to her mind. First had been Marta, the daughter of a freeholder from the outskirts of town sworn to her father, who had been very open about the fact that she would be expected to marry a boy who could do the heavy, strenuous labor on the family farm—and didn’t even mind it, really; there was a nice boy who lived on another farm whom she liked well enough. But she  _actually_ thought that women were more attractive and wanted to experience that before she got engaged and felt herself bound by honor.

Elissa had felt a pang in her heart at the realization that the fling would be no more than that, but she was grateful to Marta for her honesty. She had been far more honest than Camilla, a young merchant at Highever port with whom Elissa had flirted, with much encouragement, for three weeks—until she finally entered her personal quarters at her dockside house, looking forward to going to bed with her, and found a shirtless man accompanying her would-be lover.

_“This is Rene from Val Chevin, my partner in business—and in other things,” Camilla had said, grinning at Elissa. The Orlesian merchant-captain had smiled lewdly at her, doffing his hat, as the anger of betrayal churned within her. “Oh, I think you misunderstand,” she had added. “I thought you might join the two of us today. It would make it that much more exciting. Rene loves women; he would not be jealous of you. He would enjoy it.”_

Elissa had understood at once what Camilla had intended, and it had merely transformed the nature of the betrayal she felt. It was not infidelity or falseness; it was an  _intrusion._ Elissa had not ever wanted a man in her most private and personal space, yet here this woman had brought one without asking her permission, expecting Elissa to take part in intimacies partly for his voyeuristic enjoyment. Then, too, Camilla clearly had something quite serious and long-lasting with Rene, untroubled by their involvement of others from time to time. Elissa realized then that she was not going to replace him. She was an accessory to spice up their love life, not a potential  _real_ partner—and Camilla had never once been honest about it. Elissa had said bluntly and angrily how she felt and had stalked out of the building without looking back.

Then there had been Haldis, also a young merchant of Highever town, who was half-dwarf with a dwarven mother, hence her dwarven name. She looked entirely human to Elissa, but Haldis had said that was how it usually worked when humans had children with elves and dwarves; they took after their human parent. She was fun, both in and out of bed—but Elissa always felt that there was something lacking, a depth she needed in her relationships that Haldis couldn’t provide. Elissa tried to talk about deep subjects, but Haldis couldn’t stay interested. But she was still more promising than anyone since Siobhan, and Elissa hoped she might be able to expand the young woman’s mind and horizons in time, and make her a true companion in every way that mattered.

But then the entire family had suddenly picked up and left for Kirkwall six months ago. Haldis’s mother was a surfacer, but she still heard from those who traded with Orzammar, and something was wrong underground.

_The Blight,_ Elissa thought. The underground kingdom always noticed the changes first—it or the Grey Wardens.

Highever Castle was in sight now. Beside her, Oscar wagged his tail rapidly and barked in excitement at being home. Elissa smiled and scratched his ears.

“Well met!” exclaimed Ser Roderick Gilmore, who was standing guard, as she entered. He gave the dog a grin.

She passed through the corridor, handing her game bag to a servant to prepare for the family’s dinner table. They had plenty of food, but when Elissa hunted, they always wanted to eat her kill out of respect for her.

_“Auntie!”_

Elissa smiled as her small nephew, Oren, came running. She caught him and lifted him easily into the air. He was barely five, but she was quite fit and strong, and it was no trouble. She swung him around as he squealed, then set him back down. He beamed at her, then scampered away again.

Oscar looked quizzically at her, confused as to why the human pup acted so, but she merely grinned back. As she continued down the corridor, she began to overhear her parents’ voices from a door that was not closed entirely. They were talking about her, she realized.

“We could give her a bannorn or manor of her own,” Bryce suggested, “and encourage her to set up house there with a female companion.”

_This again?_ Elissa thought, pausing outside the parlor where they were seated. She looked around for something to hide in, settling on a cloak closet. The dog gazed up at her, confused—so she gestured for him to go somewhere else so that he would not give her position away.

“She is restless, Bryce. She won’t want that life, not yet. Perhaps someday she will want to settle down and rule a castle, but not now. I know what that is like, to have that heat in my blood, the desire to distinguish myself.”

“How can you say she’s restless when she won’t leave the grounds of Highever anymore?” he exclaimed.

Elissa could easily imagine her mother shaking her head in wry amusement. “She would leave the grounds if something existed that she wanted to do.”

Bryce hesitated before replying. “What would you have me do, Eleanor? Let her be an officer in the King’s army? She would have a high rank at once, because of her birth. She would instantly be expected to consort with all the other high-ranked officers. You know how the King is. Word has it that he will not leave the high-ranking women officers alone. Constantly flirting with them, trying to woo them into his tent—in ways that have nothing to do with discussing battle, of course. The only one he won’t bother is Ser Cauthrien, and I suspect Loghain has threatened him. But he’s Cailan’s father-in-law; no one else could get away with it. Would you send Elissa into that? He’s a married man, and besides, she isn’t even interested in men.”

“Cailan’s rumored conduct is no more acceptable when directed at women who _are_ interested in men,” Eleanor said tightly. “The situation is disgraceful.”

“Of course—you’re right,” he said at once, feelingly. “But again—what would you have me do? She can obviously defend herself; she’s better than many of the officers already... but against the King? Even if self-defense is legal, it gets very thorny sometimes. You know that Urien Kendells tried to go for her head when she defended herself against that monster of a son of his.”

“King Cailan isn’t a rapist,” Eleanor said. “I am sure he flirts with women who do not want his attentions, but I have never heard him accused of actually coercing a woman into his bed. It wouldn’t come to Elissa defending herself against an assault. But... you have a point. It would be wrong to put her in that situation, and it would make her unhappy to have to put up with it.”

“So what are we going to do, then? She is drifting, Eleanor. She’s twenty-two and she’s still drifting from friend to friend, no career path, very skilled at arms but no way to use her skills. We have to do something, give her a purpose.”

“Perhaps we should ask her.”

The teyrna’s voice was too knowing. Elissa realized that her mother knew that she was listening in. Startled, she darted out of the cloak closet, hoping to make it down the corridor before her parents opened the parlor door—

“I know you overheard at least some of it, Elissa. It’s quite all right.”

Elissa halted, sighing, and turned around to face her mother. Seeing no way out, she headed back to the parlor, slipping inside and closing the door firmly behind her.

“Well,” Bryce said, raising his eyebrows at her. “I suppose you heard the bit about the army, and the King.”

“I did,” Elissa admitted, sitting down. “I’m not afraid of him—I have no trouble refusing—but... you may have a point that it would be uncomfortable. Why doesn’t anyone do anything about it?” she burst out.

They exchanged glances. “This must not leave this keep... but I am not sure if even Loghain can control the King,” Bryce said. “He _is_ the King. He does not have to listen to his father-in-law or anyone else if he doesn’t want to.”

“There might be legal recourse if it went beyond talk,” Eleanor added. “The Landsmeet might act if he forced himself upon a woman of high birth. But there’s no recourse for unwanted flirtations from the King. It’s inappropriate, of course. These aren’t camp-followers; they’re _officers._ There are some who welcome it, and I suppose it’s their affair if they want to disgrace themselves, but others do not. It would be hard to see that every day.”

Elissa considered that. The idea that it would be better for _her_ to avoid a career she might like because of the _King’s_ dishonorable behavior angered her, but she did not know the answer, especially if some officers and knights _did_ welcome his attentions. He would take that as validation, she realized, and think the reason others did not warm up to him was that they were “harder to get.” It irritated her to contemplate. “I would not be able to respect any fellow officer who went to a married King’s bed,” she said slowly. “But if he isn’t a threat like Vaughan Kendells”—she hated even saying his name, the memory was so bad—“then it’s just another inconvenience of army life, I suppose. I would _not_ tolerate it from _anyone_ else—but, as you say, he’s the King.”

They exchanged uneasy looks before Bryce spoke again. “So you really are determined on the army.”

Elissa suddenly felt a surge of annoyance fill her. “And why not? I am more than old enough to be a knight, Father!” she exclaimed. “Old and skilled enough! I don’t fight like a traditional knight, but I could hold my own in melee against one. I could have been knighted several years ago.”

“You never squired....”

“Oh, you know as well as I that it isn’t necessary, Father! It’s traditional in times of peace, but it appears that we are no longer in those times. I could go south, join the army, and ask the King to knight me, with your permission. I have stayed around Highever for five years—because there is nothing else for me to do that I _want_ to do! Five years of training and learning how to survive in the wild—as much as the woods of the Storm Coast near the town count as ‘wild,’” she added, “so I do not mean to say that it was wasted time... but just... let me do something with my life. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Bryce and Eleanor exchanged another look and sighed.

“There doesn’t seem to be much of a place for people like me. Perhaps I _should_ have been a Templar,” she muttered. “I didn’t want to after... something upsetting that I saw once.” She realized that she had never told her parents about the event years ago in which she had seen Templars apprehend the mage boy trying to run home. She wondered what had happened to him—to all of them. He would be grown now, like her, and the Templars might be retired. They often retired from active duty early, for some secret reason.

Her parents exchanged sympathetic looks. “You were right not to enter a profession if you had doubts,” Eleanor said. “Your father and I think that perhaps we could give you a keep, or even a bannorn, in your own name—and of course, it would be lovely if you found a suitable companion.”

_Suitable,_ Elissa thought dourly. She wondered how much her parents knew of her romantic pursuits since Siobhan. She was the daughter of a knight, and then a knight herself—arguably beneath Elissa as a match if she had been a man instead, but nonetheless from a background of some gentility, compared to Marta the freeholder’s daughter and Haldis the half-dwarven merchant.  _So if I am to live openly in my own keep with a lady companion, she must be “suitable.” There are already few enough women like me, but I also have to limit myself to those of gentle birth. That is harder than it sounds._

Her grouchiness was clearly apparent to her mother. “You don’t like the idea. This is what I suspected and I told your father as much.”

“She did,” Bryce agreed. He managed a smile. “And if there is a Blight upon us....” He trailed off, looking upset at what he was suggesting, then soldiered ahead bravely. “It would be hard for us as your parents to see you fight as we had to. It is a hard life—but it would be a noble thing.”

Elissa looked interested for the first time in the conversation, as her father finally appeared to give in. Her gaze perked up. “Serving my country in a difficult time  _is_ a noble thing,” she said. “It’s what both of you did. I was never sure if I could live up to your example, since it has been a time of peace....” She gathered her thoughts, thinking about Haldis and her parents, and their decision to leave based on the news from Orzammar. None of them were warriors. “I can’t blame common families for leaving in a Blight if they know they can’t help. But  _us..._ that’s different. We should serve Ferelden, help it to get through this, no matter what. It’s our responsibility as nobles.”

Bryce and Eleanor smiled proudly, but neither could hide their fear.

* * *

_A few weeks later._

Elissa came in from a hunt with a pair of birds in her game bag. Oscar had not gone out with her—for some reason, the dog had wanted to stay at the castle—but that had only inconvenienced her ever so slightly for tracking and retrieving game.

She wished that she could stay out all night, but she knew that she couldn’t. Her parents would send a search party after her. She might evade them, because she was quite good at avoiding being seen if she wished, but then she would not get to see her father and Fergus off, and she would have to live with the fact that they were joining the army to fight the darkspawn with worry for her hanging over their heads.

The reason she wanted to stay out here was that Rendon Howe was present. He was not the only one; many guests were at the castle, but he had already made his presence known to Elissa and alluded to her near-total absence from noble events and gatherings for five years. She found it obnoxious. No, she had not visited Denerim or Amaranthine in five years, but his son was part of the reason for that—as he knew full well. He had believed her account of the attack on her in Denerim and believed that Tommy was a part of it.  _He ought to have the basic decency to accept that I don’t want to see the little shit,_ she thought mutinously.

But Howe was not the only one, she reminded herself again, and among the others were some people who seemed interesting to her. There was a Grey Warden reportedly there, observing the knights and soldiers for potential candidates. She wanted to see if that were true and to get a word with him if so. There would be no bothersome monarch in the Grey Wardens to harass women without consequence. And they  _directly_ fought the Blight with secret methods, an elite order like Templars. They were the core, the heart, of the effort.

There were others at the castle as well, including a pretty elven woman Elissa had seen from time to time in years past, who seemed to be a lady-in-waiting of one of her mother’s friends. She thought she might like to get to know this woman better— _and to the Void with Mother’s exhortation that I should find a “suitable” companion,_ she thought.  _Rather hard for me to do that when the expectation for noble girls is marriage!_ Elissa knew that she was fortunate that her parents did understand her, and she felt guilty about these mutinous thoughts—but, she supposed, it wasn’t as if she expected to “settle down” with any of her romantic interests since Siobhan. Even Haldis, the only one who had been an actual possibility for a permanent relationship, had been a bit too superficial in character.

Perhaps, Elissa thought darkly as she headed back to the castle, that was all she would ever know from now on.

She entered the gates, dropped off her game bag at the kitchen, and—after a rather amusing to-do in the kitchen with Oscar, who, it turned out, had remained in the castle to try to rid it of pesky vermin,  _like the good boy he is,_ Elissa thought fondly—stepped out into the corridors to look for her family.

* * *

“I’ll send my eldest off with my men,” Bryce’s voice sounded through the corridor. “You and I will ride tomorrow, just like the old days!”

Elissa realized that she was nearing her father—and someone else. _Howe,_ she realized with dismay. She had hoped to avoid him.

“True,” replied Bryce’s companion, who, sure enough, was Howe. “Though we had less gray in our hair then. And we fought Orlesians, not... monsters.”

“Well, at least the smell will be the same!”

Elissa entered the room, instantly making note of the fact that Howe regarded her father evenly at this joke, as if he disbelieved Bryce’s sincerity. But it was only a jest, Elissa thought, not something to over-analyze. Howe was probably just in one of his moods again, she concluded.

He frowned at the sight of her, but it quickly left his face as she approached.

Bryce turned around, his attention drawn by Howe’s expression. “I’m sorry, pup; I didn’t see you there.” He cleared his throat, uneasy, almost as if he did not want to say what he was about to. Elissa held her breath.

“Since your brother is leading the forces south and I’m going with Howe, I’m leaving you in charge of the castle.”

Elissa drew back slightly as the words and their import sank in. _What?_ she thought indignantly. _Fergus gets to go to war, to defend Ferelden against the Blight, but I have to mind the castle?_ She noticed a faint smirk in Howe’s face and resolved, then and there, not to let him see her feelings. _Damn you for this, Father, but I will not throw a fit here. I won’t give Howe the satisfaction. I will corner you later when you’re alone._ “I’ll do my best,” she bit off, giving her father the evil eye and hoping Howe did not notice.

She could not tell if Howe did or not, but her father looked pained at the dark look she was giving him. “Only a token force is remaining here, and you must keep peace in the region. You will be in charge of the north, Elissa. It is no needless task, but a great responsibility.”

_Managing a teyrnir,_ she thought. It was not what she would have wanted to do. Yes, someone had to do it, but why must  _she_ be that person?

“I know you could do very well in the war,” he continued, pleading with her with his eyes, “but your mother is already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going. If I took both of her children _and_ myself to war....”

“Then let Fergus stay and send me. He has a family,” Elissa pointed out.

Howe then spoke up. “And perhaps it is high time that you did too. My son Thomas asked about you again. Perhaps I should bring him next time.”

Elissa drew back, stunned by the verbal attack, the unsubtle meaning and studied insult of those words—

“Howe!” exclaimed Bryce.

“Perhaps _not,”_ Elissa snarled back. “If you think that I have forgiven or forgotten what happened....”

“He has not been around that Kendells fellow in the past five years, who was the real instigator,” Howe said coldly. “He has made something of himself at last, knows how to use a blade. I daresay he’d like to spar with you.” A smirk crept across his face.

Elissa glared at him. “Does he think he can beat me in combat now and that’s how he can ‘make me’ respect him—or bow to him?” she hissed. “He is wrong. On both counts. You should tell your son to give it up, my lord Arl. And learn how to treat women if he wants a chance with anyone else... though I would question the judgment of any woman who went for a man who palled about with someone he knew was a rapist.”

Howe sneered at her before turning back to Bryce. “How very unique, training her as a warrior and permitting her such liberty of her tongue. I can’t say I approve of this freedom that you allow.”

Bryce smiled back, but it was a dark one. “Nor can I approve of the freedom you allowed Tommy for him to become what he did, after sending Nathaniel away for reasons no one knows.”

“That is my family’s own affair, my lord. I do not owe anyone an account of my decisions as a father.”

“Nor do I. And I am very proud of both of my children and what they have become.”

Howe nodded curtly, checkmated and aware of it, as he stalked off. Once he was gone, Bryce turned to his daughter apologetically.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “I cannot believe he dared mention that son of his again, in such a context. I don’t know what’s gotten into him today.”

She thought about that. “He’s been strange all day?”

“Strange... yes,” the teyrn agreed. “That’s a good word. Ill at ease and ill-tempered.” He sighed. “No surprise, I suppose, with monsters of the depths massing in the south.”

“I wish you would reconsider,” Elissa said in a low voice. “Mother is perfectly capable of administering the teyrnir herself. She doesn’t need me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” he agreed, “but... try to understand how she would feel about seeing both of her children go to war. We may ‘know’ that we could die, but we don’t want to accept it. We all dream of coming back, telling glorious tales of battle over feasts and ale, growing old and showing off our scars... but the fact is, many soldiers don’t get that opportunity because they die on the field. And not just common soldiers, pup. It could happen to me, to Howe, to Teyrn Loghain... even to the King. It could happen to anyone. Those left behind know it better than the ones who go to battle... and that’s what your mother would have to live with if I let you and Fergus both come.”

“So why him and not me?” she said bitterly. “I’m just as good or better and you know it.”

“Because... we’ve been worried about _you._ We have wanted _you_ to find your place in the world. And perhaps you don’t think you would like the business of ruling, but give it a chance, pup. Give it a chance.”

Elissa sighed.

“Go find your mother. I think she wanted to ask you about your dog... and try to find Fergus too, to see him off before we leave tomorrow.”

* * *

Eleanor was pleased that Elissa had already visited the kitchen and taken care of her dog. Apparently, the hubbub into which Elissa had walked, with kitchen staff scurrying around in laughable fear of the large rats that Oscar had cornered, had prevented her from having drinks with her friend, Lady Landra.

That noblewoman was present with her son, Dairren, and the very elven lady-in-waiting in whom Elissa had been interested. Her name was Iona.

“You remember my son?” Lady Landra said, already sounding tipsy, so clearly Oscar had not prevented _her_ from having a good time. “He’s not married yet either!”

Elissa and Dairren exchanged exasperated glances undetectable to his mother. Oh yes, Elissa knew him. He occasionally visited Highever with his family for social occasions. He was actually something in the manner of a friend—perhaps in some part because he was interested in men and they understood each other in that respect. They were in the same boat, except it might be worse for him, as the heir of his father’s bannorn. And his mother was just as oblivious to the truth of her own son as she was to Elissa.

_Or maybe,_ Elissa thought cynically,  _she knows and doesn’t care because he still must “do his duty.”_ She suppressed a sigh.

“Don’t listen to her. It’s good to see you again, my lady. You’re looking as beautiful as ever,” Dairren said. Landra almost trilled with delight.

Elissa rolled her eyes. “Flatterer. Why don’t you use it on someone who appreciates it?”

Landra was taken aback, and Eleanor also raised her eyebrows—but the two youths had a sort of private code, or private jokes, about their shared... situation. They exchanged quick grins that their mothers did not notice.

“Well!” Landra huffed, swaying slightly as she stood. “Young people these days!” She clucked her tongue and then turned to her elven maid. “This is my lady-in-waiting, Iona. Do say something, dear. Don’t be shy.”

“It is a great pleasure, my lady. You are as pretty as your mother describes.”

Very polite, very much a nothing comment—or was it? Elissa decided to have a private talk with this woman later if she could... and see what happened. _“Suitable”_ she was not, according to her mother’s standards—she was a servant, albeit a high-ranked one, and, yes, an elf. Her parents never expressed bigotry for elves or dwarves, but Elissa knew that they would not consider one a proper romantic companion for her, even as an unmarried partner. But... Iona _was_ refined and well-spoken. As one close to a bann’s wife, she had exposure to books and the finer things of life. She might be a good conversationalist.

“And she says that after seeing you bringing in dead birds, blood on your clothes, sweating like a mule,” Eleanor said, chiding Elissa mildly.

“Your daughter’s prowess with weapons is most impressive,” Dairren said.

“Right, now, while everyone is busy talking about me—” Elissa began to say.

“I was quite the battle maiden myself, in my day,” Eleanor said. “But I think it was the softer arts that helped me land a husband.” She raised her eyebrows at Elissa.

Elissa didn’t know what to make of it. Was that meant to be encouragement to talk to Iona, that her refinement overrode her status as an elven servant? Her mother knew perfectly well that Elissa was not interested in a _husband,_ after all. Or was it about Eleanor’s idea that Elissa should oversee the teyrnir and learn how to do something other than fighting and hunting?

Well, she would try to grab Iona and have a word with her later. As the two noblewomen and the elven woman left the room, Elissa gave Dairren another wry smile. “There are lots of soldiers in the mess hall,” she said pointedly.

He gazed at the door, then back to her. His face was strangely pained. “You know... maybe it isn’t the worst idea,” he said quietly.

Elissa’s heart almost stopped. He _did not_ mean what it sounded like he meant, she thought. “You... can’t be suggesting that,” she said, “the two of us.”

“It makes sense in a way, though. You like women... I like men... we both know that about each other, we understand it.... It would be honest. I mean... I could offer you a good home, a bannorn, and anyone who didn’t know us well would see this ordinary, respectable marriage. And what we did, our other companions... wouldn’t be cheating. Not really. I don’t think it counts when both know about it and agree.”

Elissa stared at him, upset. Yes, she supposed the coldest pragmatic part of her could see his point—but it was _so_ cold. “It would still be a lie,” she said.

“To who? The rest of the world? They don’t need to know how we would conduct our private lives.”

“I don’t mean that. Entering into a sham on purpose, swearing marriage vows falsely, knowing we didn’t intend to keep them....” She shook her head. “I can’t do that. People’s oaths should mean something, and if you start to swear vows _knowing_ that you don’t mean what you say, when does it stop?” She scowled. “And don’t tell me that you don’t think we, ruling a bannorn, would ever have to share a bed. Of course we would. Who is _your_ heir, Dairren?” she said pointedly.

He scowled back at her. “You’re lucky. You have an older brother who already has a child. You don’t _have_ to produce heirs yourself. I do, Lady Elissa. I don’t have a way out.”

“I heard that there is a Grey Warden here,” she said. “Maybe you should talk to him. Let your father sort out the inheritance.”

“Maybe I’ll do that, then.”

He stalked off, leaving her alone in the room. Irritation churned within her at the encounter. He was her friend—they understood each other—they were alike in this regard—and even _he_ was suggesting giving up. _Living a lie,_ she thought again. _And of course we would have to have a child, as humiliating and unpleasant as that would be for both of us. We’d have a child and then go right back to our real partners. Maker! Raising a child in that kind of household! What was he thinking?_ Elissa shook her head and left the room at once. She needed to find her brother—and Iona.

* * *

Iona was alone in a side room that served the Couslands as a study. Elissa slipped inside, pleased to find that she was examining a book. _Refined indeed,_ she thought.

The elven woman looked up and curtsied. “Greetings once again, my lady,” she said demurely.

_Let’s get you out of the shell,_ Elissa thought, a smile blooming on her face. “Good evening,” she said. “I’ve seen you here for several years, when Lady Landra visited... but somehow we were never properly introduced.”

“I am just a lady-in-waiting, no one important,” Iona said quietly.

“She saw fit to introduce us earlier,” Elissa pointed out. “I just wanted to get to know you, that’s all.”

“Well,” Iona said, smiling, “I am an open book for your ladyship.”

“How did you come to know Lady Landra?” Elissa asked. “Did you grow up together?”

“My family has been in service to hers for many years,” Iona explained. “Lady Landra elevated my place as a reward for our loyalty. I hope this position might pass to my daughter.”

Elissa tried to master her disappointed expression at this news. A daughter meant perhaps a husband— _probably,_ in fact, to avoid scandal. An elven servant of this stature was uncommon enough. “You have a daughter?” she managed.

“Forgive me; I shouldn't have mentioned her,” Iona said. She looked upset suddenly.

Elissa leaned forward, placing a hand on Iona’s trembling one. “No, it’s fine. Is she all right? Well?”

She took a breath. “She is well, yes. Her name is Amethyne... and her father died of a wasting sickness two years ago.”

Elissa instantly pulled a face of regret, feeling guilt over the fact that her first, gut reaction was relief that Iona was not bound after all. “I’m very sorry,” she said kindly.

“Thank you. He is with the Maker now.”

“Was he an elven man?”

Iona nodded. “Yes—so Amethyne is elven too. We live in the Alienage... Lady Landra’s manor is not half the size of this castle, but it is a way for Amethyne to learn what it means to be elven... as much as possible.”

Elissa nodded for her to continue. “It must be difficult. The Tevinters destroyed a lot. History is always worth knowing, though.”

“It’s true. So much of ours has been lost. Few speak our language anymore. We live amongst you, worship as you do, sing the same songs, eat the same foods. I am a Fereldan woman, yet my race will always set me apart.”

Elissa was deeply impressed with her thoughtfulness and the education that shined through every word she spoke.  _I knew she was something special,_ she thought in triumph.  _I knew there was more to her than a common kitchen maid._

“You _are_ something apart,” Elissa said boldly.

“I have risen high for my people,” Iona agreed.

“I didn’t just mean that,” Elissa said softly.

Iona blushed at this. “You flatter me, my lady. Lady Landra has been very good to me. That is all that I meant.”

It was hard for Elissa to imagine the intoxicated, silly woman as such a charitable soul, but apparently it was so. She made a note to herself not to judge others too quickly.

“If I may… I see that you have no ladies-in-waiting. Is this usual for a noblewoman of your rank?”

Elissa shook her head. “It’s not. You may have heard Arl Howe on the subject of how ‘unusual’ I am as a woman,” she said darkly. “It seems to be one of his favorite topics.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—I meant no offense—”

She felt bad. “No, I shouldn’t have said that. I _am_ a bit unusual, it’s true. I’m a warrior.” She gave Iona a pointed look. “I might reconsider having a lady-in-waiting if I could have one like you.”

“You are very kind, my lady. I am nobody special.... You make me blush.”

Elissa smirked back, raising her eyebrows. “Lady Landra and I both agree that you are special, it appears. You should trust our word.”

Iona finally laughed, and Elissa sat down in a chair, relieved that the tension had finally dissipated. The elven maid followed her to another seat.

“Is there anyone special in the Alienage?”

Iona shook her head. “Amethyne is my life... and serving my lady. Though I would not rule it out if... the right person came along.”

“The right _person,_ you say?”

Iona stared at her lap. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Among my people, it is important to preserve the elven bloodline. The elders arrange marriages for this purpose and so it was for me. I did not meet my husband until our wedding day....”

“Really?” Elissa said. This sounded awfully like much of the nonsense and exasperation with which she’d had to deal today, between Howe, Dairren, and her own parents. Perhaps they really were quite a bit alike. “Nobles practice arranged marriages a lot too, but... complete strangers on your wedding day?”

“Not complete strangers in our cases. I could read and write, and so could he. We exchanged letters. But I had never seen him. I grew to love him still... but... the truth is, the elders do not encourage... relationships with the same sex. It can do nothing to strengthen the dwindling elven bloodlines, so they do not want to promote such emotional bonds.”

“But that’s something you think that you might enjoy?” she said softly.

Iona looked at her, her face flame-red. “Perhaps, Lady Cousland.”

There was a pregnant pause before Elissa spoke again. “And what do you think of humans?” she asked. “Do you think we can be attractive? The reverse is certainly true,” she added with a wink.

“Some humans, yes. Without question.”

She lapsed into silence then, and Elissa thought about what an elf might _actually_ think of humans. Iona wanted to preserve the history, language, and some of the traditions of her people, and pass that on to her daughter Amethyne. And although Elissa had always been taught history from books written by humans, sympathetic to the human point of view, there was no escaping the fact that her people shared blame for some of the great elven tragedies, let alone that all elves but the wild Dalish had to live in slums in human cities now. The mere thought of Vaughan Kendells and the atrocious stories she had heard about him five years ago regarding elven women filled her with outrage.

“You must resent us for what we’ve done,” she finally said.

“Well,” Iona said awkwardly, “that is not an easy topic. It would take far more time than we have. Your people certainly have done harm to mine... but people are people, and I highly doubt mine are blameless either. We had a great empire once, after all. Those are _never_ innocent or perfect. Your father is a good man, though. He treats his elven servants well. It speaks well of your family, Lady Elissa.”

Elissa smiled. “We may have no time now, but perhaps we should talk some more later tonight. You could come to my door....”

Finally, Iona smiled a wicked smile of her own with only a faint blush.

* * *

Elissa had been on the hunt for Fergus when she passed by the library. Through the open door, a shiny blue and silver coat caught her attention. Was this the Grey Warden? She stepped inside to find her father and a man in light armor with a griffon in conversation.

Too late did she realize that Howe was also there—and all three men noticed her, so she could not back out and pretend that she hadn’t been there. Stoutly she strode forward as her father began introductions.

“This is Duncan, Warden-Commander of the Grey in Ferelden,” he said, as the man shook hands. “Commander, my daughter Lady Elissa. She is a great fighter too, as you can guess from the fact that she is armed and armored right now, but this time, she will be in charge of Highever while we are at war.”

“Indeed!” Duncan said, studying her. “You must be responsible, for your lord father to trust you so.”

Elissa had not quite seen it that way before, so annoyed with the task was she. It was something to think about. “My father thinks so. I will try to uphold the name I carry. Welcome to our home, Warden.”

Duncan bowed courteously. “I’m terribly sorry, but I believe your father wishes to talk to the arl and myself alone.”

“Well, I won’t waste too much of your time—but I was hoping to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course, dear,” Bryce said as Duncan looked questioningly at him.

“How many darkspawn are there in the south?” she asked. “Where did they come from? Is it really a Blight?”

Duncan smiled. “Your curiosity does you credit. Unfortunately there are thousands of darkspawn, perhaps ten thousand or more in this horde alone. And more underground, in the Deep Roads.”

“I think I have been, briefly, in the Deep Roads,” Elissa ventured daringly, as her father’s eyes widened in surprise at the secret she had kept. “Several years ago... in the area around Crestwood. There is an old cave that connects to some rooms of dwarven make. No tunnels, though. I think it got cut off...?”

“It may very well have been,” Duncan said. “The Deep Roads used to connect throughout Thedas, all the dwarven kingdoms, united—before the First Blight that smashed the Old Imperium and the dwarven empire to fragments.” He sighed. “Normally, the darkspawn stay there—regrettable as that is for our dwarven allies, though they can keep their numbers in check when there is no Blight. It bodes ill that so many risk the surface.”

Elissa considered what she had just heard. _Ten thousand darkspawn, and that’s just the ones that reached the surface,_ she thought. The magnitude of it was horrifying, and suddenly, she feared greatly for her family. “How much danger are Fergus and my father in?” she asked uneasily.

“Well... I understand the first battles have gone easily.”

Arl Howe scoffed. “Indeed they have. Are the Grey Wardens _sure_ this is a Blight and not simply some large darkspawn raid?”

Duncan looked torn, as if he wanted to explain something that he could not—bound, perhaps, by oath? “No archdemon has been spotted yet, my lord. But with my entire soul, I believe this is a Blight.”

“Hmph. I wish we shared your faith.”

Bryce raised his eyebrows at the arl. “Really, Howe? I wish the Wardens were wrong, myself.”

“As do I,” Duncan said heavily. “I would love to be wrong about this. I came this far to try to find likely candidates for recruitment to the Order. The Wardens were banished from Ferelden two centuries ago and then, during the Orlesian occupation, did not have a separate garrison for Ferelden. It was only during King Maric’s reign that we were allowed to establish posts here again, so there are still few of us.”

“Why is that?” Elissa said. “King Maric has been gone for five years and he ruled for....” She did some quick arithmetic in her head. “Twenty-three.”

“The Grey Wardens do not recruit simply anybody. I have found only a couple of promising candidates in my travels across Ferelden. Your father invited me here, suggesting a knight called Ser Gilmore. If he is not suitable, I will head south and join up with the king.” Duncan studied her. “But if I might be so bold, I would suggest that your daughter is also an excellent candidate,” he said to Bryce. “Many of the finest Grey Wardens have been women.”

Elissa smirked at Arl Howe. “There you have it, my lord Arl,” she said quietly, unable to resist. Even if nothing more came of it, the compliment alone was worth exultation. Between her talk with Iona and now this, her afternoon was looking much better. Howe glared back at her.

Bryce had practically turned purple. “Honor though that might be, this is my daughter we’re talking about!” he exclaimed. Elissa could tell that this was fear—fear that the Grey Wardens would carry her off, with her full agreement.

“Have no fear,” Duncan said, as if reading her mind. “While we need as many good recruits as we can find, I’ve no intention of forcing the issue.”

Bryce pulled a handkerchief from his doublet pocket and wiped sweat off his forehead. “Maker’s breath, you gave me a heart attack. Pup, can you ensure that Duncan’s requests are seen to while I’m gone?” he said to Elissa, who nodded her agreement. “In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me. I think he is in his chambers with his family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so we all know what Chapter 8 is going to be, so if you are in a real-life situation where reading a detailed, emotional account of that might upset you, be ready, I guess. I am not going to make it _worse_ than the game in terms of what happens, but I will get into Elissa's emotions in writing in a way that the game doesn't.
> 
> Early in this chapter, I added the bits about certain Wardens talking about the coming Blight to the Couslands. I don’t think they’d keep that information from high nobles—at least, those who were willing to listen. Duncan’s Lothering contact was Malcolm Hawke, Senior. This is also an AU detail, that he kept in touch with the Wardens. And yes, in this world he died because of Blight disease from a ghoul attack. (Well, actually, he asked for a merciful death from Anders, who isn’t yet a Warden. That’s what happened on the road, as the previous chapter referred to.) It’s never said how he died in canon, so this is what I did.
> 
> No, Cailan's not a rapist. But I do have issues with a king making such a habit of taking lower-status women to bed, as he is said to do. I don't see how that wouldn't imply sexual harassment in some cases rather than every woman throwing herself at him.
> 
> I’m not sure what to make of the _DA:I_ codex about marriage and sexuality, specifically where it says that in Ferelden, same-sex relationships are generally hidden. This doesn’t really fit with what we see in _DA:O_ in which the Warden can have a same-sex relationship with Zevran or Leliana and nobody shames him or her for it, nor do you get shamed for any opportunity that arises in the game for a one-off same-sex fling, such as this one. I’d try to reconcile this apparent world retcon (regarding the _DA:I_ codex) by saying it’s just written for an Orlesian audience, except that the author is Genitivi, who is not an Orlais partisan. Maybe he just didn’t research this topic as well as other ones and took the word of Orlesians about Ferelden when he shouldn’t have. One thing about the codices that are “written” by various characters is that they are all subject to unreliable narrator voices! Anyway, I’m going with what is shown in the game over what is told in a random codex. Selected random characters may exhibit gross homophobia, like the canon sexist Howe, but it won’t be pervasive in such an ugly fashion throughout the whole culture. It might be more subtle, though, as some things about this chapter suggest.


	8. Last of Her Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay for this chapter. Not a sympathy beg, just an explanation: This was a very difficult month for me because of a death in the family that might have been due to COVID complications, a major unplanned travel to attend the funeral, followed by a scare about my cat’s health due to some flowers I received that contained a toxin (cat is fine). I knew about the toxin and hurried the flowers out of my home, but my cat ate a crumb of something off the carpet in my wake anyway, and then slept a lot for a couple of days. It was just a very emotional and stressful period for me, and I gotta say, the _specific_ subject matter of this chapter was not at the top of my list for things I wanted to write. But I am more or less OK now, so here we are. It’s quite likely that the events of this month influenced how this was written.
> 
> Brief, FtB Elissa/Iona here. Sorry if anyone wanted explicit content for that... I’m just, honestly, a little tired of writing out explicit details of her and Leliana with other people. Also, very game-ish chapter, but I again added a decent amount of my own dialogue and details to this event.

Elissa had little difficulty locating her brother, sister-in-law, and nephew. Fergus was boisterous enough that his voice echoed down the corridor. Elissa knew quite well that it was a reaction to the stress of the impending battle, a way to muster his own inner reserves of courage. It wouldn’t have particularly surprised her if her brother had had a few pints of ale for courage, either.

“Pup!” he exclaimed as she entered the room.

She smiled as Oren approached her. “Are you going to battle too, Auntie?”

Elissa shook her head. “Your grandfather thinks I should see to the castle.”

The little boy smiled. “That’s all right! I’m going to be here too. We’ll have great fun, and Papa says he’s going to bring me back a sward.”

“That’s _sword,_ Oren, as I told you,” Fergus said. He smiled and ruffled his son’s hair. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Oriana gazed aside, her lips thinning with worry. Fergus and Elissa both noticed. “What’s wrong, love?” he asked his wife.

She turned back to face him. “I wish I could say,” she said, “but... my heart is disquiet. Something troubles me.”

Fergus forced a smile. “It’ll be fine! All the other battles have gone well. Don’t frighten the boy.”

She lowered her voice so that only he and Elissa could hear. “It is not the darkspawn that I fear—well, not  _only_ the darkspawn. It is a shadow and a threat within....” Her eyes darted back and forth. “I do not like the way that Arl Howe’s personal guards look at me—at this whole family.”

“Arl Howe is a bastard,” Fergus said with a shrug, “so it stands to reason that he would surround himself with others who are too.”

“What’s a bastard, Papa?” Oren spoke up, earning Fergus a glare from Oriana.

“In the way that your father is speaking, it means a crass, unpleasant person,” Oriana said, grimacing, “and he should not have said it, and I don’t want _you_ to say it. It also means someone whose parents are not married, and that is the correct usage.”

“You said a bad word, Papa?”

“I’m afraid your mother is right, son. Mind her, not me,” Fergus said with affected seriousness, though he was about to burst out laughing. He turned back to Oriana. “Anyway, you should hear the way Howe speaks of my sister. But... we have to work with people with vile opinions sometimes. I’m sure it is the same in Antiva.”

“In Antiva, we learn almost from the cradle to be attuned to threats,” Oriana said quietly. She gazed at Elissa. “I know that you wanted to fight, but in my homeland, it would be... unthinkable. But we noblewomen are taught to be dangerous in other ways... and to be attuned to danger. I do not trust this Howe and I will not rest easy until you are back, my love. Be alert for treachery.”

Fergus nodded, but it seemed to both women that he was only doing so to humor her. He turned to Elissa. “I suppose Father has a message?”

Elissa nodded. “He wants you to lead the troops ahead of him.”

“Maker!” Fergus cursed. “Really? Then the arl’s men _are_ delayed. You’d think they were walking backwards.”

Oriana’s eyes were wide. “Remember what I said, Fergus!”

He leaned forward to kiss her, then turned to Oren and gave his son a kiss as well. “Will do, my love.” He raised his gaze to Elissa. “I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks, Maker permitting. I’d feel safer if you were fighting beside me, but Father’s word is final, of course.”

Elissa sighed. “I would have gone in your place. I told him that.”

Fergus smiled. “I know you would have... but there are expectations of an eldest son. It would have shamed me in the eyes of my peers if I, able-bodied and well, let a younger sibling fight in my stead. It would have had to have been both of us, and Father and Mother never would have permitted it.”

“I know,” Elissa said heavily, feeling that her chance for glory was slipping away from her. A Blight, an event that had only happened four times in past history, and she was being kept out of it! “Well... I guess this is it. Father wanted you to leave at once.”

He sighed. “You think you’re the unlucky one. You’re not. Looks like you will have a warm bed tonight. Got any company?” he teased.

Elissa could tell that he was joking, but she decided to surprise him. “In fact, I think I do.”

Fergus’s eyes widened. “Maker’s flaming breath, at this rate, you’ll have plucked as many Coastland flowers as I had when you finally settle down!”

Oriana turned bright red, and Oren innocently spoke up. “You plucked flowers, Papa? What kind?”

“That is _it!”_ Oriana exclaimed, ushering him away. “Oren, don’t listen to this. Your father and aunt are making a grown-up joke, that’s all.” She glowered at her husband.

Elissa suppressed her laughter. “Make it up to her before you leave.”

He grinned lewdly. “I will. We’ve got fifteen, twenty minutes, I expect. No one’s in  _that_ much of a hurry. You have a good time too, Pup.”

* * *

Iona was waiting for Elissa in the corridor late that evening, looking shy but also sly. Elissa reflected on what the elven woman had told her earlier about the alienage elders and their discouragement of same-sex relationships for the sake of preserving the elven bloodlines. _This may be her first time to experience anything with a woman,_ she thought. _It’s possible she has not even kissed one. But she is a widow and a mother._ Elissa thought about her own past and the fact that not one of her—so far—three lovers had, so far as she knew, been with a man, since she had stormed angrily out of Camilla’s room and had never actually been with her. It was interesting to consider, Elissa supposed, but she realized that she was not intimidated by it. _I am not in competition with men. Iona is here because she wants to be with me. For all I know, there are countless women across Ferelden who would prefer to be with women but end up with men because of family pressure. I might have been one of them if I didn’t have a sibling._ That was a sobering thought indeed.

Putting it out of her mind, Elissa put a smile on her face and took Iona’s hand. “I’m glad that you waited for me,” she said quietly. “Are you still sure that you want to spend the night with me? If you changed your mind, I won’t hold it against you.”

The elven woman nodded, a hint of color flushing her cheeks. With that, Elissa brought the thin, elegant hand to her lips with a grin and eagerly hurried down the corridor to her room.

They were in their smalls, their hair let down—Elissa’s rippling down her back in waves from the braids she had kept it in during the day—when she decided to broach the topic that had occurred to her over the evening. She drew away slightly and propped herself on her elbows, lying next to Iona on the bed.

Iona noticed. “Copper for your thoughts,” she said.

Elissa smiled; her companion was getting bolder by the minute, now asking a noblewoman for her thoughts without prompting. It pleased her. “I was actually thinking about... you,” she said.

Iona chuckled. “Well, I should hope that you aren’t thinking of anyone else right this moment!”

Elissa’s grin widened. “No one else could occupy my mind right now,” she said, almost as if it were a game, “but specifically, I was thinking—I did not realize that there was an alienage at the village of Caer Oswin”—she named the keep of Bann Loren.

Iona’s flirty smile faded. “There isn’t,” she said quietly. “There is not much of a village, in fact.”

Elissa realized that this subject might have been a mistake, but it was too late. “But... your daughter,” she blurted out.

Iona sighed. “I placed her in the Denerim alienage with my relations, my brother and sister-in-law. They had a baby recently.”

_“Denerim?”_ Elissa exclaimed, horrified. “But that’s all the way across the country! Isn’t it? Caer Oswin is south of West Hill, I thought....”

“It is. Amethyne and I see each other... when my lord and lady go to Denerim.”

Elissa was appalled. “I am so sorry,” she exclaimed, cursing herself for ruining the mood with this. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I’d known....”

Iona sighed. “My lady Landra has raised me high. I... I miss my daughter... but I don’t want to be ungrateful to my lady....”

Elissa thought again about the drunken woman who was trying to pressure her own son into an unwanted marriage. Her initial negative impression, it seemed, had been correct after all. What good was an “elevation” if the price was being separated from one’s own child by the breadth of an entire country? “I have to say... I’m not asking you to speak against your lady, don’t get me wrong... but I do not understand why this was necessary.  _You_ obviously stay with Lady Landra in Caer Oswin....”

“I am in the servants’ quarters.”

“I just... do not understand why your daughter couldn’t live with you, though,” Elissa said.

“It is a small castle....”

“She’s one child,” Elissa argued. “Many of the common folk live in houses that are a single room, even when they have several children.”

“That is true,” Iona conceded, “and my brother’s home is a single room.”

“Then why could you not have her with you, even if she doesn’t get her own room?”

Iona sighed. “My lady does not want a child to interfere with my duties to her.”

“How old is she?”

“She will soon be eight.”

“She wouldn’t be underfoot all the time, then,” Elissa argued, “and might even be old enough to do some things herself, like gardening or cleaning.”

“I wanted her to grow up learning what it was like to be elven. There is no alienage in Bann Loren’s lands....”

Elissa took a deep breath. “Iona... what do you think of the idea of serving a different noblewoman, one who would let you keep your child with you, and who lives in an area where there is most definitely an alienage, since it is important to you for Amethyne to learn about elven culture?”

Iona blushed. “You mean... Highever.”

Elissa gazed at her pointedly, a smile appearing on her face once again. “I just might.”

The elven woman gazed down and smiled. “I feel obligated to my lady... she is your mother’s friend, and I would hate to cause discord....”

“She _employs_ you. It’s not unusual at all for servants to go and work for a different noble. We rarely hold it against each other, just when it’s someone who knows family secrets who goes to work for a rival. This is Ferelden, a land of free men and women.” Elissa took her hands and gazed at her. “I respect your loyalty to Lady Landra. It’s honorable of you. I mean that,” she said feelingly. “But you should not have to be separated from your daughter.” She paused before adding, “And at _Highever,_ or whatever keep I may someday have, you could be more than a mere servant. At least privately.”

Iona managed a smile.

“Actually,” Elissa added, as it occurred to her, “so far as I’m concerned, you would not have to be a _servant_ at all. You didn’t _serve_ your husband when he was alive. Companions, partners, do not do that.”

She looked up uneasily. “You honor me, but the dignity of earning coin.... It is a great comfort to me to earn an honest living by my own labor, Lady Cousland, rather than being dependent—and having my daughter dependent—on charity. I send coin to my brother for her. I would not have it otherwise.”

“It’s not charity if you are with a partner,” Elissa protested. “You did not see your marriage like that, did you?”

“Well... no... but my husband and I were of similar status. And we both worked. I have served my lady for many years, including while he lived.”

Elissa fell silent. Iona was thoughtful, cultured, well-read... as she had hoped, a good conversationalist and companion... but this discussion was making it plain that there was still a great barrier between the two of them. Elissa knew of this way of life, the life that the overwhelming majority of Fereldans lived—and she had  _thought_ that she understood it better than most nobles because of her own interest in having a profession and making her own way in the world. But she realized now that she still lived a rarefied life compared to someone like Iona.  _I have envisioned being an officer and living in a manor or towerhouse that my family owns,_ she thought, brought up short.  _ I never considered having to pay for everything I possessed with only the coin that I earned. But that is her reality. It is dignity to her. It is independence. _

“I think I understand,” Elissa finally said, her voice softer. She smiled. “If it brings you a sense of dignity and self-respect to be a lady-in-waiting, I would not take that from you. But you could still be a companion to me, live with me, and have your daughter in Highever among other elves.”

Iona looked thoughtful. “I will think about your offer, Lady Cousland.”

Feeling playful, Elissa raised her eyebrows at her companion. “You know, if you decide to accept, I’d want you to call me Elissa in private.”

Iona chuckled, flushing pink again. “If that’s what my lady commands.”

“Oh, she does,” Elissa said, or almost growled. Her blue-grey eyes gleamed as she got on her hands and knees to crawl the rest of the way across the bed, where her pretty elven companion waited.

She climbed on top of Iona’s lean body and stroked her golden hair, smiling as she leaned down to give her a kiss.

* * *

_Afterward._

Elissa observed her sleeping companion beside her. Iona had pulled her smalls back on, as had Elissa herself—it was a bit drafty here in spring—but she still slept with her slender arms and smooth shoulders outside the covers. In the dim light provided by the moon, Elissa could watch as Iona breathed pleasantly in her sleep.

_That was good,_ she thought.

It had indeed been good—Iona had known exactly what she was doing, despite her own admission during the deed that it was as Elissa guessed and she had not been with a woman before. She had lithe, long, slender fingers and elegant, dexterous hands.

However, in spite of the hopeful conversation that they’d had at the start of the night, Elissa was no longer sure that Iona truly would resign from Lady Landra’s service. She was intelligent, refined—all the makings of a wonderful companion—but she was also a bit timid. When she and Elissa finally parted, their chests heaving and their bodies warm and sweaty, it seemed oddly final.

Elissa tried to suppress her worry—and the disappointment that would come if that worry were borne out. _I might be wrong,_ she thought. _And... if I’m not... it’s her choice._

She also tried to think about it from the perspective of an elf, impossible though it might be. As Iona had pointed out herself, it was quite unusual for a noblewoman to have an elven woman as her personal maid, her lady-in-waiting. It was a good situation—or would have been if she weren’t separated from her own child. _And I offered that same position to her, with her child, serving a higher-ranked woman... but it is a situation that—at least, to Iona, perhaps—would be contingent upon a continued relationship with me._

Elissa felt sad as this realization struck her. Of course that was the source of Iona’s timidity. It was not just loyalty to Lady Landra; it was the fact that her employment with Lady Landra depended only on her doing her official duties. Iona undoubtedly believed that with Elissa, there would be another requirement in addition. _If I did have a relationship with her, I would not sack her if we decided to end it,_ she thought with pain, _but I can see that it would make_ Iona _uncomfortable to continue serving me after it ended. She would have given up her situation and hope for her daughter to have the same situation someday, all for nothing._

She sighed heavily as she tried to sleep. _I wish I were wrong about this, but I fear that I am not. I fear that this really is what she thinks, how she feels._

_Will I ever know love? I loved Siobhan, and there were no complications of her working for me or having other obligations imposed on her by her family... but she did not accept me as I am. Will I ever meet someone I can be with openly, who loves me, and who accepts me?_

_I loved her, and it would have worked if she had accepted me—but she didn’t._

_I was with Marta, and she was sweet, but I knew it would be a fling because her parents told her she had to marry a boy who could do farm labor._

_Camilla lied. She only wanted me to make her real love life more exciting._

_Haldis was... never going to be a permanent companion. It was sex. Great sex, but sex. We could not talk about the things I wanted to talk about._

_I could talk with Iona, but the barrier of mistress and servant will always be present. That’s obvious now. It was not present tonight because she does not work for me, but it would be if she did. And it isn’t fair to her. She should not ever have to fear that her employment, her ability to support herself and her daughter, is contingent on serving me in bed. That’s awful. I would tell her that I would never do that, but how could I blame her if she still feared it?_

Elissa felt miserable all of a sudden. _Every companion I have had, there was something that just wasn’t enough. Will I ever meet someone who has the best of all of them? Is there such a person? Or will I have to go through my life with a string of temporary companions?_

She closed her eyes. It would do no good to dwell on it tonight.

* * *

Elissa was jerked out of a dark, winding path in the Fade by the sounds of Oscar’s barking.

_“Damn that beast! It’ll rouse the lot of them!”_

Elissa snapped awake at once, aware that something was very, very wrong. There was nothing particularly menacing about the statement itself—but the tone of it set her heart palpitating. Her heart rate increased further when she recognized that her dog was barking more ferociously than she had ever heard before. This was the battle cry of a war dog.

_Something is wrong in the castle._

The thought shot through Elissa like an arrow. Her first thought was the Blight, the darkspawn—but they were in the south. This was something else.

Oriana’s warning filled her thoughts then—and with that, she threw back the covers, scrambling for her leathers. The sounds were approaching her door.  _They are coming for me,_ she thought frantically.  _We’re under attack!_ She had just buckled her armor in place as Iona, also awake now, yawned and stepped out of the bed.

“Wait—” Elissa began to say, but Iona had pulled a dressing gown around herself already and was making for the door, compelled apparently by the fact that she was a lady’s maid and answering the door was what she did.

She unbolted it, scowling—

Elissa saw the pair of thuggish soldiers a fraction of a second before one of them shot a crossbow bolt through Iona’s chest.

_“No!”_ Elissa shouted, leaping forward, just in time to slam the door before the soldier shot another bolt directly at her.

Iona had crumpled to the floor, blood pouring from the wound in her chest. Elissa reached down to take her hand, but she had no idea what she would do—it seemed terribly clear to her that this was a mortal wound. Perhaps she just wanted to hold her lover’s hand as she died....

“Thank you,” the elven woman whispered, staring intensely into Elissa’s eyes, clutching Elissa’s hand in a tight grip—but it lasted only for a few seconds before her grip slackened.

Elissa could hardly process what had just happened. All her thoughts, her ideas, her worries about her connection with Iona—suddenly, they had no more meaning or purpose, as Iona herself lay dead on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

A thump on the door jolted Elissa out of her stupor.  _They’re still trying to break in!_ she thought in fury. Letting Iona go, she scrambled about the room for her bow, quiver of arrows, and a couple of blades. She fumbled for a vial of poison, slathering her daggers with it with trembling hands, as the thumps began to make her door splinter on its hinges—and the sounds of angry mabari growls grew nearer—

Elissa threw the door open, taking the attackers by surprise, just as Oscar bounded down the corridor to join the attack. With a furious, distraught cry, she plunged her poisoned dagger straight into the heart of the one who had the crossbow.

As she and her dog took the two thugs down, she noted the sigil of the city of Amaranthine on their armor. A cold, corrosive hatred began to settle in her heart.

“We’re under attack! We’re betrayed!” she snarled, though Oscar had obviously known that before she did. He was spattered with blood, none of it his own, and his muzzle was stained red. He panted, growling in agreement.

Elissa gave a final look back at her bedroom, where Iona’s body lay on the floor like a cut flower. _I’m so sorry,_ she thought, trying not to think about it. She still had to survive, to find the rest of her family and retake the castle. She could not grieve. _I will find your daughter and support her. I’ll make sure she never wants for anything._

She and the dog continued down the corridor, heading for her parents’ room. Oscar bounded forward suddenly in attack, and in the next second, another couple of Amaranthine guards attacked. Elissa drew her bow and began to shoot arrows as the mabari reached them and lunged.

_Howe!_ she thought once they were dead.  _He betrayed us! His troops were not delayed; he had them ambush Highever once our own people were mostly gone south!_ She retrieved her own arrows, pulling them from the bodies with brutal ferocity, though the soldiers were dead and beyond feeling additional pain from the arrow barbs being ripped out.

A familiar voice then sounded, a voice that brought Elissa a tiny degree of relief in this wretched night. “Mother!” she exclaimed as the teyrna emerged, her own blades bloodied as well.

“We’re under attack!” Eleanor exclaimed. “I heard fighting.... Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m not,” she said, “but... they killed Iona!”

Eleanor gasped. “The elven maid? Why?”

Elissa shook her head, not wanting to explain right now. “They were after me, I think,” she muttered.

Eleanor gazed at her, understanding the situation. “Oh, darling,” she said. “I... I heard a scream in the hall. Would it have been her?”

“She didn’t scream,” Elissa said. A horrible idea then occurred to her, which she did not want to contemplate. A guard would not have screamed. A servant might... but... there was another woman in the castle as well, who might have cried out in fright. Her heart began to thump. “It was someone else. Mother! We’ve been betrayed!”

Eleanor’s visage tightened. “I saw the sigil of Amaranthine on their shields. They are Howe’s men.”

“Yes,” Elissa growled. She gripped her blades, which still gleamed with blood and poison. “He’s betrayed us! He attacked once the troops were gone!”

“That bastard!” Eleanor snarled. “I’ll cut his lying throat myself!”

“We’ll do it together,” she vowed.

“Have you seen your father?” Eleanor asked as she joined her daughter and the dog. “He never came to bed!”

_Father can handle a weapon. He was going to go to war._ “We need to check on Oriana and Oren too!” she urged. “Come on!”

In this moment, Eleanor seemed to have the same horrible answer occur to her as to whom she might have heard screaming. “Andraste’s mercy!” she exclaimed. “What if the soldiers went into your brother’s room first? Let’s check on them! Quickly! Then we’ll look for Bryce downstairs!”

The small party dashed down the corridor—but Elissa knew as soon as she saw a light coming from Fergus’s rooms that something was wrong. That meant that the door was open, and it would not be open unless it was breached. She knew, she  _knew,_ what she was going to see—whether it was because she had known it deep down as soon as she realized they were under attack, or from Oriana’s dark premonition earlier in the evening—and she knew that she would never be able to unsee the horror once it was burned into her brain, but still, the awful compulsion drove her to look inside the room.

Her sister-in-law and little nephew lay sprawled across the rug, blood pooled around both of their bodies.

In one moment, Elissa’s heart almost stopped.

In the next, it began to pump again, filling her with blood that was now heated with rage.

Her dog whimpered in grief and huddled next to his mistress. Beside her, her mother snarled in fury. “Oren!” she exclaimed in grief, moving forward into the room to squeeze her grandson’s lifeless hand. “Oriana!” Her voice cracked, and it was terrible for Elissa to hear—her mother, the proud, fierce, indomitable teyrna, the Seawolf of the Waking Sea, broken with grief. “That fiend, slaughtering innocents who cannot even defend themselves! He is not even taking hostages! He means to kill us all!”

“Don’t look,” Elissa said, entering the room and trying not to allow herself to process the sight—trying not to let _this_ be the way that she remembered them when she thought of them again in the future. But that blood was so red and fresh, those frozen expressions so unnatural and horrified....

Eleanor turned to her daughter. “I will look. I’ll remember this when Howe dies screaming like the filthy cur he is!” But in the next moment, her voice broke again as tears came to her eyes. “Fergus... my poor son....”

“Come away, Mother,” Elissa said, though her own voice was starting to crack too. She hated herself for this—part of her screamed that her place was next to her poor family, holding them and crying over their bodies. But she also knew that there was nothing that she could do for them now. They were in the Maker’s hands. And if she did stay there, more of Howe’s men would come and find them all easy prey.

As much as she loathed herself for forcing pragmatism upon her mother and herself in this moment, she knew that she had to keep moving.

“That fiend,” Eleanor seethed, her blades drawn, as her daughter pulled her to her feet and drew her back into the corridor. “That vicious, lying beast of a man.... We never should have let him into this house... for years, jealousy of your father, fancying himself more noble-blooded than the Couslands, hating him for trying to counsel the king rather than committing that despicable treason he suggested to our allies....” She shook her head. “Maker’s breath, we should never have trusted him after that! And now....” She glanced back at the room. “Please forgive me,” she finished in a whisper, and Elissa knew it was directed at those they had lost.

They moved on, passing by several rooms, all of whom had bodies within. Elissa closed her eyes and her heart to the sight of her old tutor Aldous, the family Healer, several loyal Cousland guards, and then—at last—the bodies of Lady Landra and Dairren. Elissa felt a pang for them, especially the young man—he had been a friend of sorts, and he had also been unhappy and dissatisfied.

_How unimportant that all seems now,_ she thought.

“We are nearing the family treasury,” Eleanor said in a low voice, her blades still drawn. “The Cousland family sword is inside. You must have it.”

Elissa stopped in her tracks and stared at her mother. “You speak as though you... you don’t expect....”

“I do not want it to fall into Howe’s hands,” she said fiercely. “It should sever his treacherous head for what he has done tonight!”

Elissa gaped at her.

“Your father must be at the front gates,” Eleanor said. “We haven’t much time. If we can’t find him, you _must_ get out of here alive. Without you and Fergus, the Cousland line dies here.”

“Fergus has gone on ahead....”

“With traitorous Howe soldiers at his heels, no doubt! Elissa... _listen to me._ Take the family sword and shield. I will not have Howe’s hands on them!”

Shocked, Elissa nodded and hurried with her mother and Oscar down the corridor. Along the way they encountered a solitary guard, a female archer who was already bruised and bloodied. The sigil on her breastplate told them that she was one of theirs.

“My lady!” she exclaimed. “We are betrayed! I fear that Howe forces already control the castle.”

Elissa had feared it too, but the confirmation was like a stone falling down her gut. “We are going to look for my lord father and try to escape if we can. Fight with us,” she said. Without hesitation, the archer joined their group.

In a moment they found themselves at the doors of the treasury, but Howe soldiers were massing there. With the archer standing back to pick them off, Elissa, her mother, and Oscar plunged into the melee, lunging, slicing, and hacking as rapidly as they could while trying to avoid the friendly arrows, a red dance of death. In a minute, they had reduced the forces to only two.

“Get that bitch!” snarled one of the survivors, abandoning the treasury to target the archer. Elissa gave her a pained look but dashed into the treasury with her mother, as her dog tried to aid the loyal retainer.

She quickly found the family sword and shield, the devices of Highever and the Cousland line etched into them. Elissa did not fight with a shield herself, and she usually fought with two daggers rather than a sword when she had a blade in hand, but this was important, and she was not about to defy her mother now. Eleanor, meanwhile, was rummaging in a chest. She plucked something from it that she shoved into a satchel on her side. Elissa did not see what her mother had chosen to save; there was no time to lose.

They emerged from the room to find the two Howe guards dead by Oscar’s sharp teeth, but they had done what they set out to do. The archer was bleeding to death rapidly.

“My... daughter,” she croaked. “And husband. He’s... a gardener.”

Elissa felt awful. What chance did an unarmed gardener and a child have in the midst of this slaughter? But she couldn’t tell a dying woman what she feared, especially one who was giving her life for the Couslands. She placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Elissa,” Eleanor said urgently.

“Gawain’s his name. She’s... Idonia,” the woman choked out. Blood trickled from one corner of her mouth as she fought to get the words out. “Please, milady, if you go that way... pray they don’t wait for me.”

“I will try to save everyone I can,” Elissa said quietly. She truly did not think there was any hope for the woman’s family, after the bloody slaughter that Howe’s thugs had inflicted upon Oriana, Oren, Aldous, and other defenseless innocents with whom he had no conflict. “Thank you for what you did tonight for us. What is your name?”

“Margaret.”

“I won’t forget your sacrifice,” Elissa said, rising to her feet as the archer breathed her last.

_“Elissa,”_ Eleanor said, her eyes wide. “We must go!”

She sighed as she quickly joined her mother and dog again.  _That guard died for a fucking sword and shield that I don’t even know how to use that well,_ she thought.  _That may be what she signed up to do when she swore to this family, but she was also a mother. I can’t see the people who serve us quite the same now after... after Iona,_ she thought painfully. Yes, this was all going to hurt terribly once she had the chance to think...  _if_ she had the chance to think. _If her child is alive, she will grow up without her mother. Like Iona’s daughter._

They continued down the corridors, finally meeting Ser Gilmore, the knight who had been under consideration to become a Grey Warden. He was accompanied by a couple of other Cousland guards as they fought off a contingent of Howe forces, including a mage—whether a Circle mage sent to serve him, or an apostate whom he had sheltered, Elissa had no idea, nor did she care. She just knew, as soon as the mage targeted Oscar— _my dog!_ she thought in outrage—that she wanted his blood.

The mage was the most dangerous enemy in the hall, and Elissa made a beeline for him, coating her daggers with a fresh layer of lethal poison as she made for him. She hoped it didn’t give her mother pain to see her using these instead of the family sword, but at the moment, what mattered was defeating the enemy, not sentimentality, and she fought better with daggers. She engaged the mage, hoping that he was not a blood mage who would be able to draw malign strength from open wounds that she gave him.

With Elissa’s attention focused on this enemy, the knight, guards, dog, and teyrna were able to fight off the Howe soldiers. Elissa finally, after a bruising battle that left her slightly shocked from a spell, stuck one of her poison-slathered blades straight into the man’s carotid artery. A jet of bright red blood spurted from the wound, puddling on the floor as he went down at last.

“You’re both alive!” Ser Gilmore exclaimed once they had all taken a breath. “I was certain Howe’s men had gotten through!”

“They did,” Elissa said darkly. “They are killing everyone in sight!”

“They killed my poor daughter-in-law and innocent grandson!” Eleanor added, anger in her voice.

The knight bowed. “I am so sorry, my lady. Howe will pay for this.”

“Where is my husband? Have you seen the teyrn?”

“When I realized what was happening, it was all I could do to shut the gates,” the knight said. “But they won’t keep Howe's men out long. When I last saw the teyrn, he’d been badly wounded.”

Elissa gave a cry, but her mother only closed her eyes, as if accepting what she had already known.

“I urged him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen. I believe he thought to find you at the servants’ exit in the larder.”

“Why would he....” Eleanor broke off. “That is the only escape left, then.”

“Come with us,” Elissa urged. She could not stand to think of losing yet another friend tonight, a companion that she had known for years, who had trained her, had taught her how to fight....

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady, but if I do that, you won’t make it out before the gates fall.” He took a breath and gathered his weapons. “I swore a knightly oath to serve my lord and protect this family with my life or death.”

Elissa looked to argue further, but her mother cut in, pain in her eyes. She too had been fond of the young knight. “Bless you, Ser Gilmore. Maker turn His gaze upon you and those who fight beside you!”

As the knight and guards ran to their likely deaths, and it felt to Elissa that another part of her soul had died, she felt her mother’s gauntleted hand upon her shoulder. “We must get to the larder,” she said.

Her voice was different. Even tonight, during all the blood and death, the teyrna had not sounded this... dark. It frightened Elissa, and when she met her mother’s gaze, something that she saw in those eyes scared her even more. She did not think for one second to disobey or argue. Nodding once, she scrambled to her feet and hurried away with her mother and her dog.

* * *

They had to fight their way through yet more Howe guards, and it was at this point that Elissa truly accepted that Highever was lost. There were simply too many of them to fight off with the small force that they had left. Howe had planned his treachery well.

_Father is injured,_ she thought as they finally reached the kitchen area.  _How can we get him out of here? How can we sneak an injured man through and get him on a horse undetected?_

She knew the answer, deep inside, but that was one thing that she was  _not_ ready to accept. Not until she had seen her father and assessed his wounds.

They finally burst into the larder—and Elissa’s heart sank. Bryce was fallen, covered in blood, clutching his side.

“No! Bryce! You’re bleeding!” Eleanor cried, rushing to his side.

He gazed at them both wearily. “Howe’s men found me first. Almost did me in right there.” He groaned in pain. “Duncan... the Grey Warden... brought me here.”

“And left you lying in a pool of your own blood?” Eleanor said indignantly. “We must get you out of here!”

Bryce groaned again as he tried to rise, then collapsed again. “I... won’t survive the standing.”

Eleanor tried to lift him onto her back in spite of it. He cried out in agony, and she quickly let him down, lowering him to the ground to rest again. He gazed at her with deep sorrow, a look that was then met with one of grim, sad understanding from the teyrna.

“Someone must reach Fergus,” he gasped. “Tell him what happened.”

Elissa understood. “I will,” she swore. “And by the Maker, I  _will_ take vengeance for this family and household.” In that moment, she meant it with all her soul.  _There is no hell in the Void torturous and painful enough for the likes of Howe,_ she thought— _but I will put him through hell here first._

“Yes... vengeance,” Bryce managed. He gazed at them. “You got the sword and shield. I’m glad. Glad that bastard won’t have them....”

“Bryce, what are you saying?” Eleanor exclaimed. “The servants’ passage is right here! We’ll get you out, find a Healer!”

He groaned again. “I am dying, Eleanor. I’m bleeding inside. Think the blade was poisoned too. I won’t reach any Healer in time.” He heaved a breath. “And the castle is surrounded.”

For a couple of seconds, they gazed silently, despairingly, at each other. Elissa saw her mother’s visage harden into something that she did not like at all.  _Father is dying,_ she thought frantically.  _My father is going to die along with everyone else. Mother—don’t do this to me!_

Another voice then spoke up, and Elissa realized that the Commander, Duncan, had been nearby all along, though giving the family their privacy. “I am afraid that the teyrn is right,” he said quietly. “Howe’s men haven’t yet discovered this exit, but it is inevitable, and they do surround the castle.” He gazed sadly at them. “We tried to reach you sooner. I am sorry.”

“My daughter helped to get me here,” Eleanor said.

“I am not surprised,” Duncan said. “She is a fine fighter.”

Bryce managed to prop himself up. “Duncan... you don’t owe me anything... but I beg of you, take my wife and daughter to safety!”

“What?” Eleanor exclaimed—and that cry only confirmed to Elissa what she knew her mother intended. Her heart sank.

“I cannot promise safety,” Duncan said. “I am going to battle. I will take them away from here... but I must ask something in return.”

“Anything!”

The Grey Warden steeled himself. “What happened here tonight was a grave act of evil,” he said. “A vile crime. But there is a greater evil now loose in the world that will cover all of the land with death and darkness if it is not stamped out.” He paused again, though only briefly. “I came seeking a recruit and I must leave with one. The darkspawn threat demands it.”

Elissa understood. “You mean me.”

Duncan turned to her with a nod. “You fought your way through Howe’s men. I think the Maker’s intention is clear.” He turned back to Bryce. “I will take the teyrna and your daughter to Ostagar to tell Fergus and the king what happened. Then, she joins the Grey Wardens.”

“So long as justice comes to Howe... I agree,” Bryce said, giving Elissa a poignant look. She stared back at her father miserably. Becoming a Grey Warden would have been a great thing under any other circumstances. But there were no other circumstances under which it could have occurred, she realized. It was not what her father had wanted for her, and he would not have allowed it.

“I will _make sure_ that Howe faces justice,” Elissa swore to him.

“Then I offer you a place within the Grey Wardens. Fight with us.”

She knew then that she was saying her final goodbye to her father.  _I never wanted it to be like this,_ she thought.  _So sudden... so premature. Not like this. You don’t deserve this, Father. This isn’t...._

But as she faced the injustice of it, the fact that he would not have a peaceful death of old age in his own bed, his wife holding his hand as he passed, nor would he have a glorious end in a battle to save Ferelden from monsters, she realized that there was no choice for  _her._ She could not change this. She could not heal him. All that she could do was accept Duncan’s offer—an offer that she would have welcomed eagerly just hours ago, when everything seemed exciting and none of this had happened—and bring honor to the name that she bore, that her father also bore.

_I cannot save my father, but I can survive to see that he is avenged—and that if I am the last Cousland, if Fergus—Maker forbid—is attacked too, that our end will not be on Rendon Howe’s terms, but on mine, gloriously and honorably to save our country._

“I accept your offer,” she said, her voice sad, but also resigned and firm.

Duncan nodded. “We must leave quickly, then.”

Eleanor was biting her lip, gazing from her husband to her daughter.

“Eleanor, our daughter will not die of Howe's treachery,” Bryce said quietly to her. “She will live, and help our country in its darkest hour, and bring glory to our name that will never be forgotten.”

Finally, Eleanor’s gaze settled on Elissa. “Your father is right,” she choked. “And now, at last... there is something I must give you.”

Elissa had known it, but now, hearing it—hearing her mother talk this way—it was an entirely different matter. Panic flooded her.  _“What?”_ she burst out. “Mother—you’re coming with us!”

“You stand a better chance of escaping without me,” she said. She drew her blade.

_“Mother!_ You don’t have to sacrifice yourself!”

“Your life is the most important thing right now,” Eleanor said, “and I will _not_ endanger it further with my presence. My place is with your father. At his side, to death and beyond.”

“Eleanor....”

She turned to her husband and gave him a quick kiss on his forehead, unconcerned about the stranger in their midst. “Hush, Bryce. I will kill every bastard that comes through that door to buy them time. But I won't abandon you.”

“Howe’s men—you don’t know what they’re capable of! I couldn’t bear to think of you—”

Eleanor then drew a small, but deadly sharp, knife from inside her breastplate. It was already covered with poison, Elissa realized—and a  _very_ lethal one. It was terribly expensive and rare, and it would stop a beating heart in less than a minute. “I know  _very_ well what vile men like that are capable of!” she exclaimed. “I swear on the pyre of Andraste that neither Rendon Howe nor any of his swine will touch me, so long as I draw breath!”

The deadly, poisoned knife gleamed in the light, and Elissa and Bryce both realized what she intended to do with it if—or, rather,  _when—_ it came to it. She stuck the lethal knife under the leather strap attaching her left bracer to her arm and then reached into the satchel. Elissa remembered that her mother had picked up something in the Cousland family treasury....

She withdrew an ancient, weathered book—a tome that Elissa recognized, though she had not seen it in five years.

“Take this,” Eleanor said, making it plain that it was not a request.

Elissa accepted the ranger tome, though it was not what she wanted to think of this horrible night—it was indelibly associated in her mind with yet another tragic, violent, brutal death, the death of her poor direwolf....

“You are going to be a Grey Warden,” Eleanor said to her. “I agree with this Commander that it is the Maker’s will—and so is _this.”_ Her voice cracked. “This is why the Maker gifted you with this talent, to fight the Blight that threatens your country. To save Ferelden and avenge this family. You have Cousland weapons, but you are as much a Mac Eanraig as a Cousland. This is part of you too. Don’t let memories of that _monster_ keep you from it any longer. A time will soon come when you will need to call it out again, to accept it. It is what you were born to be. Accept who you are, dear love.”

Elissa had no choice but to take the book, though it broke her heart doing it. Despite her mother’s pleas, she could not imagine ever using this talent again, especially now that it would  _ also  _ be associated with her parents’ deaths, in addition to everything else dark and sad. But she put the book into her pack. “Mother,” she said, the tears that she had held back all evening finally coming to her eyes. “Father. I love you both so, so much.” She tried to suppress a sob and did not succeed.

They both managed smiles. “Then live, darling. Become a Grey Warden, and do what is right.”

Bryce sighed, his breath growing short. “I’m... so sorry it’s come to this, my love....” He was speaking to Eleanor. “I never thought.... I failed to protect my family....”

“No,” she said feelingly. “Howe is a traitor. Andraste herself was betrayed. Did she fail, or did she leave a great legacy? It is never the fault of anyone but the traitor. We had a good life and did all we could,” Eleanor said stoutly. “It’s up to our children, now. They won’t let us down.”

He nodded, taking comfort in that. “Go, pup. Warn your brother. And know that we love you both. You do us proud.”

A series of shouts and the clash of metal against metal interrupted this moment. “They’ve broken through the gates,” Duncan said urgently. “We must go, now!”

“Goodbye, darling,” Eleanor called out—and as Elissa hurried away, her loyal dog still by her side, she yet again realized that she had to suppress her sobs. When would she get the chance to cry for her lost loved ones? _When I’m on the road,_ she thought, running quietly beside Duncan, trying to block it all out for now. She still had to survive.

* * *

They ran stealthily through the servants’ passage, emerging on the far end of the castle, near the servants’ quarters. Howe’s men had not spared them either, though they were less interested in the comparatively poor dwellings of castle staff than in the keep itself. Elissa tried to keep pace with Duncan while not giving herself away—though it would be hard, she knew, if she were spotted.

“My horse should be nearby,” he said quietly. “To the stables.”

She hurried beside him, keeping her blades at the ready, trying not to think of her parents—her mother’s dark vow not to allow Howe or any of his men to lay a hand on her.  _ I have seen the blade that will end my mother’s life, _ she thought—but once again, she was not quite able to fully process this thought. Survival was still paramount for now, and her brain and body were fixated upon this one goal.

A man dressed in everyday clothes, no armor whatsoever, darted past. A child who looked about seven or eight followed closely behind him. They seemed to be making for the servants’ passage to enter the castle.

Elissa noticed a Cousland sigil on his clothing. “Don’t go back!” she said.

The man halted and gasped as he realized who had spoken. Duncan looked impatient. “Lady Cousland—”

“Milady!” the man exclaimed. “You... you don’t mean....”

“The castle is fallen,” she said, controlling her voice but feeling the weight of the words, the cold truth of speaking them aloud to someone else. It was horribly final, and some of the pain that she had been keeping away out of survival necessity surged forward as she spoke. “I am sorry.”

His eyes widened. “My wife,” he exclaimed. “She—she was fighting—a bow—”

“Are you the gardener?”

“Gawain, milady. My wife....”

Elissa shook her head silently.

The man’s face fell, and beside him, the child let out a cry. “Mum!”

“You must leave!” Elissa said as Duncan emerged from the stable, already mounted his horse. “I’m sorry. She fought and fell by my side. Don’t go in there! Howe’s men are killing _everyone!”_ She hesitated a brief moment before adding, “I release you from my family’s service. Go! Save your daughter!”

The man mastered his grief before scooping his daughter up himself. After a moment’s hesitation, he took off north, toward the harbor of Highever Town. Elissa hoped that he and the little girl made it, wherever they went.

Elissa mounted Duncan’s horse behind him, Oscar readying himself to keep pace with the horse on the long journey to Ostagar.

“I am sorry,” Duncan said again. “This....”

“Let’s go,” she said, cutting him off. There was truly no time to lose now. Maker knew that there would be plenty of time for grief on the road, and in the months to come. What mattered now was being _alive_ to grieve.

He nodded, faced forward, and spurred the horse into a gallop.

As they finally made it past one last force of Howe soldiers, trampling them into the dirt with the dog mauling one for good measure, then set out into the open countryside with no pursuers, Elissa finally allowed herself the tears that she could no longer hold back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess it was pretty obvious what I was going to do when Elissa returned the ranger tome to her mother at the end of chapter 5, but better this than buying a tome about a really obscure and arguably nature-mystical ability from some random merchant in the middle of nowhere.
> 
> The gardener and his daughter are very minor OCs in my _Spells of Healing_ , chapter 21. Because I had already created them, I decided to give a voice to the archer as well.


	9. Whatever It Takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots to say again, and another apology for the delay. I had pain in my left hand, and then, something that had been sort of under the radar all the while—a lack of energy and tiring quickly—reared its head again in a way I couldn’t write off to psychological stress. COVID-19 is the Joining: If you survive it, the Calling will get you someday. And it turns out I _definitely_ had it and also have cardiac and blood problems from having had it.
> 
> Mild warning, some readers may consider this chapter misandrist. I don’t, because I think a lot of guys at Ostagar really don’t acquit themselves well, but it’s a valid opinion given the amount of extra content I’ve added.
> 
> Finally, I’ve got some significant strategic criticism of Ostagar embedded throughout.

Elissa had not expected to sleep much on the road. Duncan had said that there was no time to lose before the darkspawn horde was expected to make its stand. But Ostagar was several days away even when riding the fastest horse available, which Elissa vaguely noted that he had. He also had good armor and weapons. The Grey Wardens had rather good supplies overall, apparently. Her parents had occasionally griped about the tax to support the order, but the Wardens did not appear to waste the coin on fripperies, and now that a Blight was upon them, their necessity was unquestionable. Her parents had seen that.

_Her parents...._

Elissa’s heart hurt at the realization that they would never complain about the taxes again.

Besides, she and Duncan  _ had  _ to stop occasionally to sleep, even if only for the minimum time necessary. The night after the sleepless first night—the only rest she had that night was the couple of hours at Highever—she tumbled into the Fade in a matter of minutes after closing her eyes, she was so tired. Physically tired from hard riding and little sleep, but also  _ weary. _

Elissa also had not imagined, to the extent that she had been able to think about anything at all, that she would be able to focus on anything except her own grief and rage. For the first day, every time she let her thoughts drift, the images of her family’s corpses filled her mind. Poor Oren’s bloodied body, thrown to the floor. Elissa felt sick for Fergus when he learned. It was bad enough as Oren’s aunt....

She hoped that her mother had defied Howe. She kept imagining her mother glaring up at the sneering arl, perhaps disarmed after the final fight with Howe’s thugs, overwhelmed by their numbers, finally facing the villain himself as he strode in arrogantly—he would make some sort of vile demand of her, probably, a final insult, and then she would draw out the hidden knife and plunge its poisoned blade into a gap in her armor, smiling in satisfaction as she went to the Maker and Howe himself raged in fury that he was denied this....

It was horrible, but it was something to hold onto. Her mother was dead. There was no point in imagining scenarios in which Eleanor had somehow survived. Elissa knew she had not. After her direwolf’s death, she had never been one to welcome false hopes. The disappointment only hurt worse when that hope was snatched away at last. All that was left to her was to hope that her mother had a “good” death, on her terms, as she had wanted.

But after a full day of wallowing in this, of barely being able to keep from choking up, she felt other thoughts tugging at her, trying to be let in. She felt guilty at first when she began to experience these thoughts. Should her family not deserve every last second of her waking awareness? What right had other concerns to intrude now? At Ostagar, that was one thing, but she was not there yet. She knew that she would have only this brief time on the road to mourn... and yet she could not force herself to focus on grief exclusively.

The Warden-Commander noticed the change when they stopped for food the third day. “You appear to be... somewhat recovered... as compared to yesterday,” Duncan said when Elissa joined him at the table in a wayside inn. “Forgive me,” he added. “I don’t mean to diminish your grief.”

She sat down and began to eat from the bowl of stew. She shook her head. “It’s quite all right,” she mumbled. “I do grieve—but—I don’t know. I just can’t think exclusively of... what happened. It’s too much.”

The Warden-Commander nodded. “It is natural and normal to think of other things even while mourning,” he said.

“I feel guilt about it, though. It feels wrong to think of anything else.”

“That is normal as well,” he said, “and I hope that makes you feel better to know. But also, there is much to be done, and your family would not want you to lose sight of that in the midst of grief. They are gone to the Maker. You cannot help them.” He took a bite of roll. “I knew your father a bit, your mother less, but I feel confident in saying that they would understand.”

Elissa spooned up some stew moodily. He was right, and yet, it did seem presumptuous for him to speak of her parents’ wishes. He had certainly defied their wishes for  _ her  _ by high-handedly conscripting her. She herself might like being a Warden in and of itself, circumstances aside, but it wasn’t what her parents had wanted, so what right had he to speak of what they would want?

“You think I’m a pompous arse, full of my own importance as a Grey Warden, with no right to talk about your parents to you.”

Elissa looked up sharply and saw, to her shock, the ghost of a smile on the man’s face. It was useless to dissemble. She chuckled wryly. “Yes,” she admitted. “You are absolutely correct.”

“You may be right about some of it, too. I hope I’m not puffed up with my own self-importance, but the rest of it... well, you might be right.” He sighed. “I do know about grief and mourning, though. I have seen many of my friends in the Wardens fall in combat or....” He broke off uncomfortably. “Well. My point is, I wanted to tell you that what you are feeling is normal, not something that you should let flood you with guilt. Your life goes on. You must think of other things, and it’s natural that you are.” He looked pointedly at her. “Also, there is nothing to be gained by reliving that night. It doesn’t help you to grieve. When you think about your family, think of the good times—or bad ones. Your memories. Not that night, though. That’s not the sum total of your relationship and it’s not how any of us would want to be remembered.”

Elissa considered this as she ate. It seemed true, and oddly comforting. But there was one thing about it nonetheless. “I can’t do that yet,” she admitted. “Some other thoughts brought them to mind—ordinary things that they would do and say—and I can’t stand it. It hurts too much.”

“A time will come when the pain will be... different,” he said. “Perhaps not lesser... but it will be of a sort that you can handle. That time is not here yet, though, and that is why your mind is trying to think of other things. It’s ‘relive the fall of Highever’ or think of something utterly unrelated... isn’t it?”

Startled at how well he understood, she nodded. “That’s exactly so.”

He finished his roll and got to work on a second. “I can tell you about the Grey Wardens... and my assessment of what we face at Ostagar.”

“I would appreciate that,” she burst out gratefully.

* * *

_Several days later._

Elissa gazed at the Tower of Ishal. Ostagar was little more than an ancient ruin. Elissa could not understand why the darkspawn or the Archdemon would choose _this_ spot to begin a Blight. The nearest settlement was the village of Lothering, and it was not much of a town itself. She was certainly _glad_ that the monsters had not appeared first at a city, but she wondered at it.

“Has the Archdemon been spotted?” she asked Duncan in an undertone as they approached the fortress.

He hesitated before replying. “Not in the waking world.”

Elissa eyed him thoughtfully. “Then some Wardens have seen it in the Fade, you mean.”

He bristled. “Lady Cousland, the Wardens have secrets that must be kept. As you are a recruit, I don’t mind you learning them—and your intuition is correct in this case—but I must ask you not to discuss any Warden secrets with those outside the order. Those who learn our secrets must join us.”

_Why is it a secret that Wardens apparently see the Archdemon in their dreams?_ she thought in bewilderment.  _What would it hurt for people to know that?_ She suppressed a sigh; Duncan was her commanding officer, and she supposed she had better obey, even if the order did not make sense to her.  _This will be something to adjust to, taking orders from him. I’m used to getting my own way unless I’m going against my parents._

She gazed down at the ground at that thought, trying to keep the sting of tears out of her eyes. When she had command of her emotions again, she faced Duncan once more. “As you say. I won’t mention it to others. But... that is how you know this is a Blight, isn’t it?”

The Warden-Commander nodded. “Grey Warden dreams are a complex topic, and you may want to read more about it in the Warden Compound in Denerim. Archdemons are never  _completely_ silent in the Fade to darkspawn and ghouls,” he said. “And... people who have been Wardens for many years.”

Elissa frowned at that. “Why would it matter how long someone has been a Warden?”

Duncan evaded the question. “I will explain later. But what I mean is, even though Archdemons are never entirely silent, we don’t see them—they aren’t drawn to us—unless it is a Blight. So yes, that is how I know.”

“Are these dreams helpful for formulating strategy?” she wondered. “Can you tell what the one responsible for this Blight is going to do? Is it going to make an appearance here at Ostagar?”

Duncan sighed. “I wish it were so, but no, we don’t learn anything useful from the dreams—and I do not know if the dragon will appear or not.”

Elissa intended to ask him more questions, to pick his brains for information about the Grey Wardens, when her gaze was caught by the sight of golden armor gleaming in the sun, and golden hair to match. King Cailan approached.

“Duncan!” the king exclaimed cheerfully, raising a gauntleted hand in greeting. “I was beginning to worry that you’d miss all the fun!”

Duncan gave a quick bow. “Not if I could help it, Your Majesty. I have brought a promising recruit with me as well. Allow me to introduce you—”

Cailan waved him away. “No need. You’re Bryce’s youngest, aren’t you? I used to see you at Landsmeets... though you haven’t been at one in, I think, five years. I don’t think we’ve ever actually met!” He gazed at her. “Your brother arrived last night with Highever’s men, but we’re still awaiting your father.”

Elissa stared at him, trying to control her emotions. Did he not know about Highever?  _He might not,_ she realized.  _Duncan and I might be the only people who survived it that have made it here._ “My father is dead, Your Majesty,” she said, keeping as even a tone as she could manage.

The king gasped. “What! Surely not!”

“I’m afraid it is true, Your Majesty,” Duncan put in. “Teyrn Cousland and his wife are dead, along with their daughter-in-law and grandson. Arl Howe has shown himself a traitor and seized Highever. Had we not escaped, he would have killed us and told you any story he wished. Undoubtedly he has one, knowing that he must offer some excuse for his acts, however fabricated.”

“Maker!” Cailan exclaimed. “How could he think to get away with it? As soon as we are done here, I will turn the army north and bring Howe to justice. You have my word.”

“Justice?” she asked.

“He will hang for this treason. I know it won’t bring your family back, but this will not stand.” He paused. “I’m sure that you wish to see your brother, but at the moment, he and his men are scouting the Wilds for darkspawn. I will let you know when they have returned to camp—unless the battle begins first.”

Elissa was a bit disappointed, but this disappointment was quickly drowned out by relief that Fergus had made it here—that she still had one family member who lived, at least—and dread at telling him that his wife and son, and their own parents, were gone. She supposed it was just as well that she did not have to face him yet.

* * *

Duncan had business with the rest of his order, as well as with those who were formulating strategy for the battle, so he left Elissa to explore the camp. A junior Warden named Alistair was somewhere about, as well as a pair of recruits named Daveth and Jory, but for now Elissa wanted to see what there was to be seen at Ostagar without having to deal with strange men. It was fairly interesting. Her mabari tagging along, she first visited a kennel where a man was painting a team of war dogs for battle. Apparently there were herbs in the warpaint that enhanced a mabari’s reflexes and strength if applied to the coat.

There was also a tent for some Circle Enchanters whose skills would be useful in battle. Elissa recalled the stories her parents had told her about mages—some of them even apostates—who helped the rebels during the war against Orlais. It seemed only sensible to her, a solid interpretation of Andraste’s command that “magic was meant to serve man.” What better way than helping “man” defeat an ancient, foul evil that corrupted the earth?

An elderly woman stood nearby, a staff on her back. Elissa wondered about that. Mages’ magic was said to grow stronger with age, and their bodies—especially Healers—often aged more slowly than non-mages, but they still _did_ age, and she was surely too old to charge in battle.

As it turned out, Elissa’s suspicion was correct: The mage was a Healer, not a battlemage, and her name was Wynne. That seemed vaguely familiar to Elissa, who puzzled over it as the mage explained how the Grey Wardens would be fighting on the front lines beside King Cailan himself.

That brought her up short. _The front lines?_ she thought, startled. _How is that a good idea—for any of them? Perhaps the Wardens are the best line of defense against darkspawn, but why must the king put himself in danger like that? He doesn’t even have an heir. This is a bad idea._ Her father’s remarks about how anyone could die in battle—terribly painful now, but no less true even though he had not lived to see the battle—came back to her.

“We all have our part to play,” Wynne continued, not entirely attending to her companion’s silence. “To defeat the darkspawn, we must work together. I am not sure everyone grasps that.”

Elissa finally realized where she had heard of Wynne before. This was the Healer who had been sent to Alfstanna’s father’s bannorn to treat him as his health failed him. _That, or there is another Healer by the same name,_ she thought, but the odds of that seemed long. “You have been out of the Circle a lot, then?” she managed. “You have faced darkspawn?”

Wynne nodded. “Stragglers. Not this vast horde that the scouts speak of.”

“Forgive me,” Elissa said, “but did you serve the Eremons a few years ago? The late bann of the Waking Sea Bannorn?”

Wynne’s face grew somber. “Alas, yes. I regret that I could not save the late bann’s life, but his heart was failing, and I could only give him a bit more time. I suppose you know the family.”

“I am the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever and Bann Alfstanna was a friend of mine in childhood.”

Wynne was startled. “My lady! I apologize. I did not know.”

Elissa managed a weak smile. “It’s quite all right. I’m going to be a Grey Warden now.” She sighed. “My parents are dead too, betrayed by Rendon Howe. I don’t suppose I should have told you, this close to battle....”

“What wickedness!” the mage exclaimed indignantly. “I am very sorry.”

“It goes to show, though—you are right. About people not grasping the threat that we face. Selfishness and evil....” Elissa broke off, shaking her head. “He will die for it. At least I can think of that.” She gave the Healer a sad smile. “Luck in battle to you.”

“To us all. I will pray for you.”

* * *

After that, Elissa found Teyrn Loghain’s tent. She was not sure what drove her to talk to him. Perhaps it was a fail-safe in case the unthinkable happened to the King....

“Ah.” The teyrn gazed up at her when she was admitted. “Lady Cousland. We meet again. For what it is worth, I am sorry about your family. The king told me of his promise. I am sure he has every intention of keeping it.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I actually came to you because... well, not to doubt the King’s valor, but I do worry about his plan to fight in the vanguard, and I wanted to be sure....”

Loghain grunted. “Cailan has... an idealized notion of the Grey Wardens and their prowess in battle. His fascination with the order goes far beyond the ordinary. Did you know that his father brought the order back to Ferelden?”

“Yes, King Arland banished them two Ages ago when they rose in rebellion against him to try to seat one of their own on the throne. Supposedly, anyway,” Elissa said, well aware of the history. “And then the Orlesians invaded.”

“Maric respected the Grey Wardens, and they do have an honored place in the hearts of our people. But it takes more than legends to win a battle.”

“You’re worried about the size of the darkspawn horde?”

“Only a fool wouldn’t be. The scouts report that it is over ten thousand strong. We have, what, two dozen Grey Wardens? Absurd to imagine that making the difference.” He scowled. “I won’t repeat this argument here.”

“You’ve argued with the King about this,” she guessed.

“I won’t repeat the argument,” Loghain said again, harder this time. He gazed at her before softening a jot. “That’s a fine dog you have there. I’m glad that you bonded with a mabari after that terrible event with your wolf.”

Elissa’s eyes grew hot as the painful memory flooded her thoughts. Her mother’s ranger tome seemed heavy in her pack as she recalled its presence—but she still could not imagine calling a wolf to her again. “His name is Oscar,” she managed, trying to control her voice. Beside her, Oscar seemed to approve of the teyrn, barking in a friendly manner.

“A fine name in the old Alamarri tongue. I’m glad that you have him. You should know, though, since that _did_ happen five years ago... there are men at this camp who will not respect you because you are a woman.”

“I have a tongue of my own,” she said coolly, “and if a man tries anything more than mere talk, he’ll wish he hadn’t.” She let her hands slip behind her shoulders, one of them fingering the blunt edge of the Cousland family sword and the other stroking the flat of her dagger.

Loghain grunted in apparent approval. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t belong. The first Warden Maric brought to Ferelden was a woman. Best warrior I’ve ever seen. And Queen Rowan, during the Rebellion... her blades bought us victory just as surely as Maric’s. Or mine.”

* * *

At last Elissa supposed that she had better meet the other Grey Wardens and Warden recruits. Alistair, the one Duncan had told her was an actual Warden, was in the midst of what appeared very much to Elissa to be a petty cockfight with a mage when she approached him. A priest at camp apparently wanted to speak to the mage and had used Alistair as a messenger, and the mage had a problem with it, having also taken orders from the Grey Wardens to do something. _Alistair himself is a Grey Warden,_ she thought as she drew near. _Why wouldn’t she send one of her own people?_

As the mage stormed off, Alistair turned to her and snarked, “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

Despite the inauspicious nature of the meeting, Elissa laughed at this.

“It’s like a party,” he went on. “We could all stand in a circle and hold hands. _That_ would give the darkspawn something to think about.”

“I’ve never heard that darkspawn are much for _thinking,”_ Elissa said wryly. “You must be Alistair.”

“I am. I don’t suppose you happen to be another mage?”

“Do I look like a mage to you?” she retorted, touching her blades pointedly.

“I suppose not, but you never know. I just want to know my chances of being turned into a toad at a given moment.” He managed a weak smile.

He still hadn’t asked for her name. “You don’t like mages, then?”

He looked down woefully at his boots. “It isn’t me. The Revered Mother always sends _me_ to pass messages to them and _they_ don’t like it. My background makes them nervous.”

Elissa frowned. “I understood that you were a Grey Warden. No reason for mages to be nervous about that, and the Revered Mother shouldn’t be ordering Wardens about anyway. She isn’t your officer.”

He shook his head. “It’s... complicated. I am a Grey Warden, though, and... oh! You’re Duncan’s new recruit, aren’t you?” he said as it occurred to him. She nodded, and he continued. “I apologize! I should have known. He said you were from... Highever, I think? Right, then. I am Alistair, the junior member of the order... though I guess you knew that already. I’ll be accompanying you and the other recruits when you prepare for the Joining.”

Elissa introduced herself, making note of how he said that last word, as if it were capitalized. “What is this ‘Joining’?” she asked. “You say it like it’s a ritual or a ceremony.”

He blushed deeply. “Well... it sort of is. Don’t worry about it, though. It will just... distract you.” He looked her over. “You know... it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?”

 _“Are_ there any others here in Ferelden? Teyrn Loghain mentioned that Maric had brought one back, but he didn’t say if she was still alive.”

“He probably was talking about Warden-Commander Genevieve. She was before Duncan. You would be the only one of the Fereldan Wardens currently.”

Elissa tried to subdue her exasperation. _Leave it to a man to not even notice that there aren’t any women in his outfit until a woman appears before him seeking to join._ “And it _just now_ occurred to you that the Wardens are all men?” she said coolly.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “I’m not some sort of drooling lecher, looking at my colleagues that way!”

“You could notice that women are fewer than they ought to be without being a ‘drooling lecher,’” Elissa said.

“I did! And I’m not!”

She continued. “But, good to know. And as for why... I’d guess because the Wardens have not been back in Ferelden for very long and many other nations don’t have a tradition of women warriors,” she said. “Orlais... Antiva....” A hard lump formed in her throat at that, Oriana’s instinctual fear and the conversation she’d had with Elissa about what Antivan women learned to do instead of arms training. She swallowed hard, trying to bury these memories, remembering Duncan’s advice on that point. “When women aren’t trained at arms, you would be left with... women who could turn you into a toad.” She smirked.

“I’d really rather not be a toad,” Alistair said meekly. “I like how I am. I meant no offense. Duncan spoke very highly of you.”

_But he hasn’t recruited any women until now, even though the Commander before him was a woman._ Elissa tried to get her burgeoning frustration under control. She supposed that this was to be expected; her parents had, after all, warned her about the King’s unwanted attentions if she joined the army. So far  _he_ had behaved properly to her... but then, she was with Duncan when they met.

_In any case, it’s not Alistair’s fault,_ she decided,  _and I shouldn’t take it out on him. He seems to mean well. It could be a lot worse._ “It’s all right,” she said in kinder tones. “It isn’t your fault. Even here in Ferelden, a lot of girls don’t grow up learning how to wield weapons. Doesn’t make much sense to recruit people who need to be trained in the very basics.”

“Yes, yes, you are clearly quite good with those... very sharp blades,” he said nervously. Elissa laughed, and that seemed to set him more at his ease. “Have you ever seen darkspawn before?”

She shook her head. “I have been in the outer fringes of the Deep Roads—once—but no darkspawn, fortunately.” She smiled fondly at the memory. “I encountered a pack of deepstalkers, though!”

“Well, darkspawn aren’t much like deepstalkers.” He shuddered. “I wasn’t prepared for how monstrous they were when I first fought them.”

“That’ll be a reminder of why they must be defeated, then.”

Alistair nodded. “Yes.”

As they began to head back to Duncan’s camp, Alistair finally explained the argument with the mage. The Circle’s battlemages and Healers were at Ostagar on the King’s orders, and some of the priests did  _not_ like that and were using Alistair—who had been a Templar-in-training before being recruited into the Grey Wardens—to menace and insult the mages.

_Alistair does not seem particularly threatening,_ Elissa thought,  _but I’m sure they understand the “message.”_ “I thought about joining the Templars myself years ago,” she told him, “but I changed my mind when I saw them capture a runaway mage child, not much older than I was, who was saying he wanted to see his mother again. Chasing down maleficarum would’ve been fun, but I couldn’t have been a part of  _that._ I guess someone has to do it, but not me.”

“I didn’t complete my training,” he said, “and being a Warden is so much better. It was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Elissa was still thinking of the rest of what he’d said. “The Revered Mother should remember that mages accompanied the rebels to take back Ferelden... and darkspawn are  _much_ worse than Orlesians,” she said. “If they can help the war effort, it would be foolish not to let them. Does she imagine that the Blight won’t touch the Circle Tower and they can stay inside there, safe and sound? Or, for that matter, the various chantries across the country? Those of us who can do something have a duty to help.”

“Duncan sees it exactly the same,” Alistair said, clearly glad to mention his Commander’s name yet again. “He says that we should all get along. It’s why I delivered the priest’s messages at all. Pity _they_ didn’t get the message.”

“Well, unless Duncan specifically told you to take orders from the Revered Mother, I think you should ignore her from now on. Letting her use you to bully some of the other allies isn’t ‘all of us getting along’ and it makes it look like she can push the Grey Wardens around.”

“Fortunately, I think that you and I—and the other two recruits—are going to leave camp soon anyway to hunt some darkspawn,” Alistair said, relieved at the prospect.

* * *

Elissa’s impression of Alistair had not been especially favorable—he seemed an insecure man who hid behind humor and didn’t see what he didn’t want to see, such as the lack of female Wardens—but when she met the other two recruits, the thief Daveth and the knight Ser Jory, Alistair started to look good in comparison.

_“Well, you’re not what I thought you’d be,”_ Daveth had said immediately—and it had gone downhill from there. Elissa’s immediate suspicion proved absolutely correct when she asked him what he had thought she would be, and he replied, without a hint of shame,  _“Not a woman—yet here you are.”_

_The sheer gall of a thief Duncan saved from the cell block speaking to me this way!_ she had thought indignantly. She had thought she was prepared for unwanted commentary from soldiers and even from the King himself, perhaps, but she wondered, now, if she actually had been—if she’d truly known what she was getting into. Daveth was not even the first; there had been a couple of soldiers who had commented on her appearance and sex as if the fact of her presence at camp entitled them to do that.  _If they knew that I liked women, it would be even worse,_ she thought. She wondered if even Alistair, who was a gentleman in comparison with some of the men about camp, might “appreciate”  _that_ fact. Then, too, there was the fact that none of the other Wardens were women. No partner would be found among them, and instead, she was facing the prospect of being the only woman amid two dozen men.

_I am not limited to the Grey Wardens for finding love, and I am a Cousland of Highever,_ she thought, taking strength and pride from it as she and the rest of the group headed into the Wilds to scout for darkspawn and retrieve the Grey Warden treaties that were apparently stashed in a ruin. That seemed strange to her; why wouldn’t the Wardens have the treaties to call upon allies in their Compound?  _It must have to do with the fact that they were exiled from Ferelden two hundred years ago, only allowed back in about twenty-odd, and the last Blight was four hundred years ago._

The other recruit, Ser Jory, was a knight, but as they headed through the wilderness, she found herself wondering how he had ever become one. The man had no courage. That or he was regretting the choice to join the Wardens. She found herself remembering Siobhan Dedrick and the fact that she had always faced whatever came her way stoutly and without fear.

The memory of Siobhan quickly led to a memory of Iona. Elissa looked outward, blinking, hoping that the men around her did not notice.  _I’ll find her daughter in Denerim and make sure that she is taken care of,_ she vowed again.

Ser Jory was at least a decent man, though, and as they headed deeper into the Wilds and Alistair warned them of the presence of darkspawn nearby, even Daveth ceased his remarks and focused on the mission.

They passed several groups of hostile wolves along the way. Some of them were infected with the Blight sickness, and death was merciful, but Elissa felt a pang of guilt as she slashed through the throat of a healthy alpha. _Could I have tamed them?_ she thought. _Could I have called to them, controlled them, made allies of them instead of taking their lives?_ She did not expect to make a pet of any wolf of this kind—that, it seemed, could only happen with direwolves—but none of the ordinary Coastlands wolves had been her enemies either. Was there some linkage between _location_ and friendliness of the bonded animal?

Elissa remembered the book, her mother’s last gift and legacy, and she wondered if it might contain an answer. But there was no time to look now.

* * *

“Darkspawn!”

Elissa didn’t know how Alistair had known it—undoubtedly the Wardens’ ability to sense the creatures from a distance that she’d heard about—but he was right. As she and the three men stood on a low hillock, the ancient rustic path laid out ahead of them, Elissa saw her first darkspawn.

She had seen pictures of them in books before, but there was nothing like seeing the horrible reality in the flesh. It wasn’t an animal, either in form or in gait. It did not even resemble a corpse in any stage of decay. Instead, it was a grotesque deformation of a person, monstrous and defiled and spreading its vile disease everywhere it walked.

She had a moment of indignation as all three men bounded toward the thing, blades unsheathed, yelling war cries, and clearly expecting her to stay back and “support” them with her bow and arrows while they fought in melee. Never mind that all three men also had alternate ranged weapons and never mind that Elissa was better with blade than bow....

More darkspawn appeared then, including—Elissa felt a thrill of horror—one that was a spellcaster. _The darkspawn have mages?_ That was appalling, and it only hardened Elissa’s conviction that Ferelden’s Circle needed to do its part against such a menace. The thing threw a spell at the group, hitting Alistair. Elissa targeted it at once, preternaturally aware that this was the most dangerous foe. She raised her bow and aimed an arrow at the thing’s staff arm, releasing it in a whoosh. The arrow struck, provoking a squawk of pain from the creature and interrupting its spellcasting. Elissa bounded forward, replacing her bow with her daggers—she dabbed some poison on them as she ran—and attacked the darkspawn mage with a lethal fury before it could recover.

The mage went down, Tainted blood pouring from its wounds, and Elissa moved on to some of the others—short, stocky things they were, unlike the tall one that she had first seen—cleaving through foul flesh in a bloody dance.

“Maker!”

Alistair was the speaker. Elissa slashed quickly through the throat of her last foe. As the darkspawn fell away gurgling, she turned to him. “You’re welcome,” she said wryly.

“That was quick thinking, to go after that one,” he said, nodding at the dead darkspawn mage’s body. “The Wardens call them ‘emissaries,’ those mages. They’re really dangerous. Only thing worse is....” He broke off.

Elissa raised her eyebrows, not intending to let this slide. They needed to know. “The only thing worse is...?”

“An ogre,” he muttered. “Huge and horned. They’re rare, though. Let’s hope we don’t come across one. Look, there’s enough darkspawn blood for all of you now, and you’ve all slain one... so... let’s get a vial....”

Elissa remembered that one purpose of their mission was to fill a vial with darkspawn blood. That seemed ominous, and she had a nasty suspicion that it had to do with the “Joining ceremony” that he had mentioned. _What kind of order are the Wardens, anyway?_ she thought as she went to the emissary to use its blood. _An order that originated in ancient Tevinter, before Andraste, to fight the First Blight, I suppose. Maker only knows what they do—what they have to do, though. Because when something like this threatens Thedas, some of the “rules” seem... well, naïve._

* * *

Elissa was ready to kick every one of her companions for their behavior.

“I have watched your progress for some time,” the barbarian woman before them drawled, clearly taking pleasure in this. “‘Where do they go,’ I wondered, ‘and why are they here?’ And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?” She spoke as if she knew the answer perfectly well and was merely playing with them like a cat with mice.

 _And they are playing the part of mice so well,_ Elissa thought, exasperated. She made to reply when Alistair cut in.

“Don’t answer her,” he said. “She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”

Elissa stared at him, nonplussed. “So? They won’t attack unprovoked....”

The stranger cackled at Alistair. “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” she chortled.

“Swooping is bad,” Alistair muttered.

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is!” Daveth cut in, panic in his voice. “She’ll turn us into toads!”

 _And here with turning people into toads again. Is this a pack of five-year-old boys hearing scary stories from the village gammer?_ “Can mages actually _do_ that?” Elissa said. “Anyway, why would she? Unless we threaten her.”

The witch smirked. “Ah, a voice of reason and calm! And naturally from a woman, who doesn’t frighten like little boys.” She peered at the men in scorn.

“Hey!” Alistair objected.

“Indeed you have nothing to fear from me if you... behave,” said the witch. “Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

Elissa introduced herself, seeing no reason to make an enemy needlessly. It was also quite apparent to her that the witch knew where the Grey Warden treaties were, and the only logical thing to do was to get into her good graces so that they could obtain them and be off. _Don’t any of these men realize that?_ she thought. _If they attacked without provocation, they would lose any way to know where the treaties are._

The witch was pleased with Elissa, however, and introduced herself as Morrigan. “And let me guess: You sought something in that chest, which is no longer here.”

Alistair burst in, reality finally having struck him. “You stole them, didn’t you?” he exclaimed. “You’re... some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!”

“How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

Elissa gave him a hard look, willing him not to take this any further. He seemed to want to go for his sword.

But Morrigan herself was merely insulted, not intimidated. “I will not, for ’twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

“Then who did?” Elissa said, taking charge before this got any worse. “You obviously know.”

“’Twas my mother, in fact,” she said with a shrug.

“Your mother.” Elissa gave her a level look. “You have the upper hand, and you know it. We can’t leave without those treaties. A Blight is at hand, and we need them to recruit our allies.” She gazed around pointedly before staring back at the witch’s face. “Darkspawn are already beginning to overrun this land. They’re coming for your tribe first. It’s quite likely, too, that no one would come looking for us; they have to prepare for battle. But know this: If you and your mother are leading us into a trap, you will die by the darkspawn soon, with the knowledge that you attacked Grey Wardens for no reason. If that’s your plan, I advise you to rethink it.”

Morrigan burst out laughing, to Elissa’s irritation. “Oh my,” she exclaimed, “smart, yes, but so very paranoid! No,” she said with contempt, “my mother and I do not intend to _lead you into a trap_ or _attack_ you. But you may come with me if it pleases you.”

* * *

Morrigan’s mother claimed to be Flemeth—the legendary Flemeth, the great Witch of the Wilds, said to be an abomination too. Elissa knew the story well. As legend had it, Flemeth had brought about the ruin of Conobar Elstan, the Bann of Highever, and the Couslands had risen from the ashes of the extinct Elstans. Elissa knew that parts of Highever Castle were older than the founder of her family, so it might well be true.

She put aside the thought that, perhaps, the Couslands had fallen now in their turn. _Fergus is somewhere out here,_ she thought. _Somewhere close at hand, in fact. He and his men were scouting the Wilds. I’ll see him after the battle is over. The Couslands are not extinct._

Alistair and the others were still grumbling, but Elissa didn’t see the point. If indeed this was _the_ Flemeth, then they stood no chance of defeating her, and why try anyway? Abomination or no, she had not made an enemy of herself. Elissa didn’t know exactly what _was_ the point of the strange little meeting, but perhaps such a being just wanted to have some part in the Blight, an event that had happened only once even in her own vast lifespan. In any case, they had the Grey Warden treaties and their darkspawn blood, and the sun was low in the sky, so it was best to return to Ostagar.

* * *

Elissa’s darkest suspicions about the darkspawn blood proved correct. Duncan stirred it into a large chalice that contained other ingredients as well: some herbs, some lyrium, and—to Elissa’s absolute shock—a drop of blood from a dead Archdemon.

_There hasn’t been a Blight in four hundred years!_ she thought.  _What do they do, drain the corpse when it is slain and have their mages preserve its blood forever?_ That reinforced something else to her.

_Blood magic,_ she realized, staring at the cup.  _This is blood magic._

It was one thing to think smugly out in the Wilds that the Wardens did what they had to do and that things were justified that otherwise wouldn’t be. It was quite another to drink this filthy liquid to partake of a blood magic ritual. Wildly, she thought of Siobhan again, the young knight’s distrust of magic for what it could do to the body.  _I understand now,_ she thought, staring at the chalice in dismay.  _What is this going to do to me?_

To Elissa’s surprise, the thief Daveth was taking the sight before them well. It was not what she would have anticipated from his reaction to Morrigan. “Would you have come if they’d warned you?” he said pointedly to Ser Jory. “Maybe that's why they don’t. The Wardens do what they must, right?”

_They do what they must,_ Elissa thought, trying to swallow her repulsion for blood magic.  _What they must. Better to be saved by blood magic than for all the world to fall to the darkspawn._

“Including sacrificing us?” Jory shot back.

“I’d sacrifice a lot more if I knew it would end the Blight.”

Elissa finally spoke up, swallowing hard. “Daveth is right,” she said, as the knight gaped at her. “We all saw what we face. Duncan and Alistair have drunk this and they stand before us now.”

“Listen to the lady,” the thief said. “You saw those darkspawn. Wouldn’t you die to protect your pretty wife from them?”

Duncan was speaking the ritual words, describing how all Wardens before them had drunk this vile substance to become one with the Taint, while yet mastering it. “This is the source of our power and our victory,” he finished.

Ser Jory was in a state of utter panic. He was already upset about the seedier aspects of Grey Warden life, and he had left a pregnant wife in Highever. Elissa did not want to tell him the likely truth about that. She had never seen him among the Cousland knights, so his wife was probably not among the dead at the castle, but Howe’s thugs would also suppress rebellion from the town, and the unprotected wife of a knight would be a prime target to “make an example of” by the men of an arl who hated women. If she wasn’t already dead or captured, she probably would be. But Jory was in a bad state and telling him this would accomplish nothing but to break him down further.

Alistair stepped up. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand, vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.” He gazed out at each of them in turn. “And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten and that one day we shall join you.”

“Daveth, step forward,” Duncan said.

Elissa watched as the cutpurse stepped up to drink. To his credit, he kept his courage even as it became instantly apparent that something was wrong. He doubled forward, collapsing on his side, choking and gagging in agony. Alistair blanched, looking away, and Duncan looked regretful.

“I am sorry, Daveth,” he said as the man died. Elissa’s heart began to thump hard. Was that to be her fate in a matter of seconds? Was she about to join her parents, her sister-in-law, her nephew? What about Fergus? Would anyone even tell him what had happened to her if she didn’t make it?

It was Jory’s turn next—and, at last, he found the courage that he had lacked all day. Unfortunately, it was not the courage to drink the potion. It was the courage to try to attack Duncan, drawing his sword and lunging for him.

Elissa was astonished at how quickly the Warden-Commander reacted. He fought with dual blades as she did, and she could presently only dream of being this fast. Before the knight could get in a single blow, Duncan had stuck him in the torso. “I am sorry, Jory,” he said, withdrawing his blade, as the knight tumbled forward in shock and dying agony.

Alistair looked miserable, as if he had seen that before and hated it even more than seeing a recruit perish from the Joining itself. Elissa was rather shocked too. _What an awful, pointless death,_ she thought, gaping at the bleeding wound on the dead man. _And if I’m wrong about what I fear befell his wife... she is now yet another Highever widow._

_What was he thinking? Even if he had beaten Duncan, Alistair would have taken him! And I was here too. Was he going to kill all of us, me included?_

“The Joining is not yet complete,” Duncan said, turning gravely to her.

Elissa did not think for one second about attempting a defiance. _If I die, I will die with my honor intact,_ she resolved. Steeling herself, she leaned forward, taking the cup in her hands, and drank deeply.

* * *

_The decrepit dragon roared in the Fade, its menace seeping through every cell in its Tainted body. Was it presenting itself to the newest Grey Warden—an “introduction,” as it were—or was it that she was now drawn to this malicious being due to the vileness that they shared in their blood?_

_This, then, was what it truly meant to be a Grey Warden. It was no cheerful brotherhood of noble knights and storybook heroes on griffon back. It was an order of dark secrets, desperate necessity, and a shared doom—in the shadows, standing vigilant...._

* * *

Elissa awakened from the lucid nightmare—she had never been conscious and aware in the Fade before, like mages supposedly were, until now—to find Alistair sitting next to her, looking dour.

“Are you all right?” he said quietly. “I remember what it was like after my Joining.”

She sat upright, wanting a cup of water to wash the vile taste out of her mouth. “Does that happen often, what happened to... the others?” she said.

He sighed heavily. “I’ve seen people die in the Joining like Daveth, yes. A third to half the time, in fact.”

“That’s awful!”

“Is it worse than what happened to poor Jory, though?”

“No,” she said, “I guess not. It would have been better to take his chance with the cup. He can’t have thought that he would manage to escape all of us.”

“He panicked. Duncan had no choice. If people knew about the Joining... well, the Grey Wardens would probably face an Exalted March.”

“And then the world would die in the next Blight,” she said. Alistair sighed but did not disagree, and Elissa changed the subject. “I had a nightmare about the Archdemon. At least... I assume it was that. A decayed dragon....”

Alistair nodded. “That’s it. That’s a rough thing to see immediately.”

“I hope we don’t see it in person tonight.”

He blanched. “Well... if we do, at least that would mean that the Blight would end quickly,” he said. “That or....” He trailed off.

“Are _all_ the Grey Wardens of Ferelden here?”

“Yes.”

She rose to her feet. “Is that a good idea? It seems that someone should have been kept in reserve, just in case....”

“Well, the idea is that the Wardens serve Thedas, not just their own nation, and so if... that happened... the Wardens from somewhere else would come here and fight the Blight. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen, though. I’m not quite ready to die,” he said. “Come on. There’s a war council meeting that we need to attend.”

* * *

The King and his father-in-law were in the middle of a knock-down, drag-out fight when Alistair and Elissa appeared.

“You risk too much, Cailan! The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

Cailan looked cocky and disdainful. “If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces to join us, after all.”

Loghain practically erupted at the word “Orlesian.” “We do not need _Orlesians_ to defend Ferelden!”

“Our arguments with Orlais are a thing of the past,” he said superciliously.

“Then why is the Empress withholding the Grey Wardens unless we admit legions of chevaliers?” he retorted. “How fortunate Maric did not live to see his son ready to hand Ferelden over to those who enslaved us for a century!”

Elissa wondered at that; it conflicted with what Alistair had just told her about how Wardens fought the Blight regardless of national boundaries. What authority had Empress Celene to keep them in Orlais? Why would they _obey?_ Surely Loghain was mistaken? She shook her head as the argument continued.

However, the King and the Teyrn subsided soon, resolving on a plan by which the King, part of the army, and the bulk of the Wardens would ride out to challenge the horde, while a tiny force would ascend the Tower of Ishal to light a beacon, signaling that the rest of the army, under Loghain’s command, should emerge and flank the horde.

In the midst of it, as they debated who should light the beacon, a battlemage spoke up, suggesting doing it at a distance by magic, thereby avoiding any need for anyone to have to sneak up to the top of a tower in battle. This sounded like a good idea to Elissa—but no sooner had the mage suggested it, than that very same Revered Mother who had sent Alistair on errands interjected to declare that they were not going to trust any lives to magic. No one overruled her.

So it was settled. Elissa had misgivings. Alistair was grumbling about how “unimportant” it seemed, little more than a glorified errand, but she had concerns of an entirely different nature. If anything, the task was _too_ important. The beacon was a single point of failure. If they ran into trouble, or if the ruins collapsed or caught fire, Loghain’s forces would have no indication of when to charge. It was night, and the sky was threatening rain, so they couldn’t even make a guess themselves from visual cues—and they had not agreed on any backup signal in the event of a failure at the tower. If anything went wrong, the King and his troops could be swamped and the reinforcements soon routed too.

Everyone at the council meeting seemed confident that it would work, though, so Elissa reassured herself that she was just worrying too much.

* * *

The rain battered the paths, interspersed with arrows, stones, and magical projectiles. The darkspawn horde was truly immense, and Elissa was more worried than ever about this plan—but no Archdemon had appeared tonight.

_But if it doesn’t appear, that means this is only a part of the full horde and it has many other darkspawn still with it._

That sobering thought remained in the back of her mind even as she battled her way through hurlocks and genlocks—the taller and shorter varieties of ordinary weapon-bearing darkspawn—while avoiding flying boulders and fireballs. She tried not to think of it. They had a job to do, and since the beacon  _was_ a single point of failure, much depended on their success.

Her loyal mabari Oscar was fighting at her side once more, a great comfort, and they had the support of a Circle mage and some soldiers as well to infiltrate the tower. They needed it—as it became immediately apparent that darkspawn had already found the tower and broken in.

“They’ve come up from below!” a guard had exclaimed at the entrance. “Dug tunnels and burst in!”

It was horrifying to contemplate. Elissa had known, intellectually, that the dwarven Deep Roads lurked beneath their feet in many thoroughfares, and she had learned that the darkspawn often dug their own primitive tunnels to connect to the infrastructure, but it was still her instinct to think of “the Deep Roads” as a separate location, perhaps only found near Orzammar, rather than parallel and just below all the roads and cities of the surface. That illusion was shattered.

And now the single point of failure that was this beacon was looking very much like it might... fail.

There was nothing for it but to try. With her small group surrounding her—and she noted that Alistair seemed to want to take orders from her, oddly—she steeled herself and kept her weapons filthy with poison and always at the ready.

The lower levels were overrun with darkspawn. An emissary had even laid a trap that it was apparently planning to detonate with a fireball, but darkspawn were not clever, and Elissa had no trouble identifying the trap and steering her group safely around it to attack the creatures.

However, with every minute that ticked by, she worried about what must be happening outside. _The King and the other Wardens are fighting the entire horde,_ she thought, _waiting for the reinforcements... and no one accounted for the possibility of Ishal being overtaken. Why in the Void didn’t they think of that? Even if it was “unlikely,” it wasn’t impossible—obviously! Duncan had to have known that darkspawn tunneling was a possibility; he is a Warden! Why didn’t he tell the King it might happen? Or did he, before Alistair and I arrived at the meeting, and it was dismissed anyway?_

_Maker help me,_ she thought desperately, panic suddenly overtaking her as they reached a set of stairs,  _what if Fergus’s people are in the battalion that is fighting right now? He might be fighting darkspawn now, waiting for... me._

With that, she burst through the door to the second level and immediately engaged the darkspawn.

There were some war machines on this level, which they quickly took and used against the darkspawn.  It baffled Elissa; it was like these ballistae were in storage. She was glad they were here, but it was an oversight that they were.

Elissa shook her head as they finally cleared out this floor. They had spent yet more time, while outside, the fighting had continued. The signal was late.

Alistair realized it too. “We have to get to the top!” he exclaimed, upset. “We’re taking too long, and Duncan and the King are counting on us!”

“I know,” Elissa said, hurrying. “My brother may be counting on us too. There should have been a backup plan, another way of lighting the signal.”

On the next level were yet more darkspawn—and some trained mabari war hounds that for some reason were caged here instead of being used in the battle outside. Again— _why?_ The dogs were kenneled a short time ago, obviously; they would have been dead if they’d been left here, forgotten, for a long time. Why not use them? It couldn’t be that someone  _had_ thought about Ishal being taken, or else the dogs would not have been caged. It just seemed like reckless overconfidence, nothing with any strategy at all. The bad feeling in Elissa’s stomach heightened even as she, Alistair, Oscar, and their support team carved their way through darkspawn and finally reached the uppermost floor, where the signal beacon awaited them.

As did something else.

She knew something was wrong before they even entered the room. The sounds coming from within were the foulest she had ever heard, and that included the terrible sounds of death at Highever Castle. Something  _bad_ was inside. Alistair looked green as he peered in first. Elissa followed.

An enormous darkspawn was picking up the bodies of dead soldiers and tearing them apart with its teeth to feast on their flesh and innards. Blood dripped from its mouth. Twisted horns with an almost demonic aspect extended from its head, and an evil but nearly mindless grin spread over its face.

This, then, was an ogre. And it was standing between them and the beacon.

Throughout all the fighting on the lower levels, Elissa had not seriously thought she might die. Those darkspawn were easy to pick off when taken by surprise and stabbed savagely before they could get in a good blow. She had also not truly considered the idea that she might die at Highever; it was simply unthinkable. She had thought she might die in the Joining... but this... this was a very different kind of death that she faced. This was ugly and violent.

Her father’s words came back to her:  _“Many soldiers don’t get that opportunity because they die on the field.”_ This was the true face of that death.

But she had no choice but to fight. No matter how bad the plan had been, it was too late to change it. Ferelden depended on them.

She put all other thoughts out of her mind, clearing her brain of distractions, as she, Alistair, and her loyal dog engaged the monster.

It was an ugly, difficult fight, and even as Elissa tried to position herself to land hits on what she hoped were vital organs while Alistair and Oscar chipped away and tried to cripple the vile thing, she realized that once again they were taking too long. Everything had taken too long.

They had some close calls during the fight, too. Every one of them was thrown backward at least once, their lives saved by a timely attack by an ally who was not incapacitated. Finally, though, the ogre slowed noticeably, its swings became unfocused and wild, and Elissa sensed her opening. She supposed the dog was actually the most agile, but she had daggers, and when the creature paused, she leaped on its back and plunged them into its neck.

“We have to light the beacon!” Alistair exclaimed even as the thing died. It did not even occur to her to be offended that he didn’t congratulate her. There truly was not a moment to be lost, and she was terrified that they were too late already. But nothing stood between them and the beacon now, and finally, she kindled the flame, watching as it burst forth from atop the tower for all the field to see.

She and Alistair turned away to head back down when a new wave of darkspawn entered the room. Elissa had only a moment to think, in horror and dismay,  _It’s overrun again! The whole field must be overrun if they’re here!_

In the next moment, arrows pierced her armor and everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was again a lot of game content in this chapter, but I’ve tried to flesh out interactions, add in new/AU dialogue, and get into their thoughts. I think that going forward, there will be much less game replay than there has been in chapters 8 and 9 except in maybe three or four chapters that are very quest-centric. There is just a lot that happens in the origin story and Ostagar, both critical events and lore dumps, and it’s very hard to skip over some of it and keep things narratively cohesive. That should be different going forward and the fic should be back to being character-focused.
> 
> Also, just to be clear, I’m not picking on Alistair. I do believe that some of his “jokes,” said to a female Warden, can be patronizing. But I know he doesn’t actually intend to be a sexist, and there are, um, others in the party who know what they’re doing and are going to get it good later. For some reason you can’t call it out in the game, but eff _that._
> 
> Next chapter—Lothering at last!


	10. A Gift of Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is primarily from Leliana’s POV. It just seemed to work better than Elissa’s here. I don’t care overmuch about describing what they do in Lothering other than picking up her and Sten, nor do I really care about writing the game scene of her awakening at Flemeth’s. They can catch up on that and talk about their pasts and traumas, how they got to this meeting, in the next chapter when they start talking!
> 
> Readers of my other stories, the breakup here is lifted very closely from _Spells of Healing_ , actually word-for-word in dialogue itself, but the in-between thoughts and reactions are from Leliana’s point of view this time.

_1 Firstfall Dragon 9:29._

Leliana sighed and gazed around her room. Caitlyn had just left, and despite the fact that it was Satinalia and Caitlyn had given her a lovely gift—a pair of satin slippers made in the Orlesian style—Leliana felt sad.

She had not yet told Caitlyn about Marjolaine—not the details, anyway. She had finally, just now, managed to tell her lover that her bardmaster had been her former lover but had betrayed her, and that this was why Leliana had come to Lothering. That was all that Caitlyn knew now.

Leliana wondered why she hadn’t told her more about it. They had been together for several months. Leliana certainly knew a great many things about Caitlyn that could be devastating, were she a liar and a betrayer herself who would use private secrets against her lover. Her past with Marjolaine was much less dangerous and explosive than the fact that Caitlyn was a lifelong apostate, with a sibling who was as well, and that the father of her child was a mage too. Caitlyn had trusted her with _her_ secrets; why could Leliana not fully open up with her own? She felt pangs of guilt about it whenever it crossed her mind, and yet, the fragments of admission today—not even a name, just “the bard under whom I trained”—were all that she had ever managed to say.

She was trying to learn to like Satinalia again. For the first year here in Lothering, Dragon 9:28, she had spent the day in contemplation and charitable acts. There were just too many dark memories of Satinalia, formerly happy but now quite blue, that included Marjolaine. Oh, the fun they’d had on Feastday in Orlais... the revelry, the pranking, her first kiss from Marjolaine....

 _Perhaps I am still no more over her than Caitlyn is over Anders,_ she thought unhappily. Caitlyn herself would deny it, no doubt—on this point, she still tried to find solace behind a wall of anger and toughness—but Leliana was no fool. This very day, not half an hour ago, Caitlyn had made yet another of her periodic statements that illustrated her continued fixation on the man.

 _“I’m sorry. I understand about people who are false, who lie and say things they don’t mean.”_ Caitlyn had said it in response to Leliana’s confession that her former lover had been false and a betrayer. For a millisecond Leliana had been offended and put off. She had finally acknowledged at least _some_ small part of her past with Marjolaine to Caitlyn. She was talking about Marjolaine, acknowledging her own pain at last, but Caitlyn wanted to rant about Anders—who might not have betrayed her or lied to her at all. But that moment passed, leaving Leliana instead filled with sadness.

 _She will never be over him,_ she had thought. _If she truly believes that now, then it is a defense for her own heart. It is still easier for her to foment an unjust grudge than to accept that she misses him. I can never be more to her unless she can let him go—_ and Leliana did not entirely _want_ Caitlyn to let him go, because that would mean a confirmed tragic outcome or a deliberate, knowing rejection by one or the other of them. She didn’t want to lose her... but had she ever really had her?

_Have I ever really had anyone? Marjolaine was a betrayer—she even tried to kill me—but I still think of her. I do not know why; I do not want her back...._

_Or do I? Caitlyn has told herself that she doesn’t want Anders back, but I know she is lying to herself about that. Maybe I am too._

_No. It is not the same. I know beyond any doubt that Marjolaine is false and villainous. Caitlyn does not know that; she merely tells herself so because that is less painful than thinking of him locked in the Circle, suffering. I have no excuse to think of her fondly or want her back, even in the darkest shadowed recesses of my soul._

_And yet._

_I wish... I wish that she had not been what she is. I wish that she had been my idea of her, my illusion of her. I do not want her back as she is... but... perhaps I want her as I thought she was, as I wanted her to be...._

_Maker, help me,_ she thought suddenly with absolute religious sincerity. _I have a lady who is not like Marjolaine, who cares for me, who has trusted me, and yet I risk driving her away because of that false bard lingering in my mind and my heart, like a festering wound that will not heal._

Leliana got up from her seat and stared out the window. The leaves had turned yellow, orange, and brown, signaling the close of another year. She tried to avoid thinking too hard about the symbolism.

 _Caitlyn is not a liar—at least, a deliberate one—and she would not stab me in the back. She cares about me. But if_ he _came back and swore to her that he had always loved her, that he just could not get to her, then she would choose him. That is simply a fact. She is not false to me... but I will never be her choice unless I am her_ only _choice._

_That, then, is why I still think of Marjolaine. There was a time when I could believe that I was her chosen, her beloved. I know it is a lie now, but I believed it then. I have never truly believed that of Caitlyn._

_This is not a matter of lovers having to work through problems. This is the fact that I am her second choice and always will be. And_ because _I know this about her and always have, I’ve never allowed her to become my first choice in my heart either, to protect myself. I hold onto my memories of the illusion that was Marjolaine, keeping my imaginary faithful and lovely Marjolaine as my own first choice, in part because I know I am Caitlyn’s second one. I am as much to blame as Caitlyn is. What does it matter which of us relegated the other first? We are both to blame._

* * *

_Dragon 9:30._

Leliana plucked the strings of her lute in time with the strumming of Bethany Hawke, singing along with Caitlyn’s sweet little boy. Now two years and a few months old and an astonishingly good speaker, little Mal Hawke was saying every verse that he could remember, which was quite a lot.

 _“Are you going to Lothering Fair,_  
_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,_  
_Remember me to one who lives there,_  
_She once was a true love of mine.”_

Caitlyn had been reluctant to join in at first, but a weak smile formed on her face as she picked up the verses of the well-known old Fereldan ballad. She really had a beautiful voice, Leliana thought. Smiling, pleased that her lover was not kept from singing by her own pain, she decided to add in the twist that, she suspected, only she knew.

This song had originated in Ferelden, but it was popular in Orlais too—though it was _Val Royeaux_ Fair there. And towards the end of the Rebellion, after the people of Orlais were tired of levies of men and gold, tired of bleeding and dying for the Emperor’s greed, the minstrels of Orlais had added new verses to the old ballad to reflect the people’s anti-war mood. They were to be sung in the background of the original verses, a darker undertone of bloody war threatening innocent remembrance and hope.

 _“In blankets and bedclothes a child of the mountains_  
_Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.”_

Caitlyn raised her eyebrows at Leliana as she sang these verses, still singing the original ones quietly with her son.

_“Tell her to find me an acre of land....”_

Leliana continued, turning to some of the darkest verses of the Orlesian additions, her tone mournful and haunting.

_“Washed is the ground with so many tears....”_

Caitlyn was obviously intensely curious about how this song-within-a-song would end. Leliana could see it in her eyes.

_“Between the saltwater and the sea sand....”_

Leliana’s singing became almost menacing as she dropped to alto.

_“A soldier cleans and polishes a sword....”_

Caitlyn’s eyes were wide, but she was keeping her pace. It was almost like a duel, Leliana thought, the threatening darkness of the war lyrics and the melancholy of the verses about doomed love. The story could not end well.

_“Then she’ll be a true love of mine....”_

Leliana suddenly began to strum her lute in a repeated series of chords, anticipatory and pregnant, as Caitlyn and Mal sang.

_“Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather....”_

Leliana raised her voice, the new verses now louder and more prominent than the traditional ones, overtaking them, the war having crushed the innocence of the hopeful lover in the story the updated ballad told.

 _“War bellows, blazing in silver battalions,_  
_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,_  
_Generals order their soldiers to kill....”_

It happened in just a brief moment, and she could not say whether it was real or imagination, let alone what it meant—but as Leliana sang these verses, a strange foreboding of future darkness came over her. She had not thought of the ballad as an allegory, nor placed herself and Caitlyn—or Marjolaine—into its lyrics on purpose. If she had, she certainly would not have thought of Caitlyn or herself as the generals, ordering bloody death. And yet....

Caitlyn’s voice was hesitant and her song reflected it.

_“And gather it all....”_

Leliana pushed aside the curious, irrational thought she’d had and continued with the final verse of the war-weary Orlesian minstrels.

_“And to fight for a cause they’ve long ago forgotten.”_

She joined the Hawkes with the original, traditional lyrics, an aura of ineffable sadness descending upon the cottage as they finished the song, repeating the opening stanza with only slight differences to conclude it.

 _“Are you going to Lothering Fair,_  
_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,_  
_Remember me to one who lives there,_  
_She once was a true love of mine.”_

She strummed her lute with a quavering, sad note, then gazed at the family.

Caitlyn’s emerald eyes were still wide. “I’ve never heard _that_ version before,” she said. “Did you write that?”

Leliana smiled. “No. This version was quite popular in Orlais as the Rebellion drew to a close. People were sick of a war that seemed pointless, no more than a vanity project for a greedy Emperor. They did not want to die for Florian’s pride. Thus the minstrels wrote and sang this version.”

“You were born the year that the Rebellion ended,” Caitlyn mused. “I guess they were still singing it as you grew up.”

“Yes. The old ballads never fade away if we keep them alive. They may change, but they are always a part of us. There is something about such songs that touches us deep inside, I think.”

Caitlyn rose to her feet, her little boy scampering after her on his stubby legs and her handsome mabari Baldwin following him protectively. She picked up the child and stood by the nearest window. “There is only one cause I might fight for, and if I did, I could _never_ forget why I was fighting,” she murmured, gazing at her son with the fierce protectiveness of a mother. “And I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t kill innocents for that cause.”

Leliana gazed compassionately at her. “We usually don’t intend either of those things, but that is the point of the song, is it not? There were even some who believed in the beginning that Orlais should rule Ferelden for its own good. War makes monsters of us if we let it.”

“Not me,” Caitlyn said fiercely, hugging Mal closely. _“Not_ me. That cause _would_ be just, but I don’t even want... I just want to live in peace. People think we mages all want to take over the world, but what I actually wanted was just to have a family... even though I _can_ shoot fire from my hands.”

“Oh, what have I done?” Leliana chuckled. “It is only a song. I did not mean to make you feel bad.” She came over to where Caitlyn was standing and gave her and Mal a gentle, brief hug and pecks on their cheeks. “You have a family. Your father is with the Maker, but you have the rest of your family, and... you have me.”

Caitlyn looked as if she wanted to object, but the moment passed as she nodded. “Yes,” she said.

As Leliana packed her lute into its case and prepared to head back to the Chantry, she found herself wishing that her lover had said more than just that single, brief word.

* * *

_A few months later._

_Leliana stood on a dark mountain peak devoid of green life or even a peaceful blanket of snow. It was impossibly black rock, so dark that it sucked all light into its surface. She watched as dense and poisonous clouds gathered on the horizon. They were not normal clouds, this she knew. They would not bring rain, but something vile and foul, something that should not exist, something that the Maker had not sent to his beloved creation, regardless of what some of the priests said. She wished that she could fend them off, but she knew that she was powerless to do anything but watch as they gathered, towering, moving closer, blotting out the increasingly feeble sunlight._

_As the clouds drew near, a cacophony began to sound, a clatter of shrieking and braying, pain upon pain, a corruption and defilement of music that was especially jarring to the ears of a minstrel. The swirling clouds took strange shapes, their edges like claws and rotting flesh, scratching at her._

_She stood on the peak, trying to remember the Maker and her conviction of His love, the beauty of this world, trying with all her might to defy the malice and putrefaction of these unnatural clouds._

_She fell, and the cacophony of noise became triumphant, gleeful, as the dark claws scratched at her, swallowing her up...._

She awoke with a start, her heart pounding, her breaths rapid.

_That... was no dream._

The thought slammed into her mind with the force of a boulder. Of course, it was a dream—but it was more.

 _Was I close to the Black City?_ Leliana wondered as she got up, put on her Chantry robe, and began her day. _I am certain that was the Blight. It has to be._

Word from travelers to Lothering was that the long-expected Blight had finally, alas, struck. The King had gathered forces at Ostagar, just south of the village, to mount a stand against a vast horde of darkspawn, and the Grey Wardens had mustered to fight beside him.

Caitlyn’s family knew it even more personally and intimately. Her father had had contacts with the Grey Wardens, and before he had died, he had been told by the Warden-Commander that a Blight was expected sometime soon. Even then, in Dragon 9:27, the Hawkes had had to fight off the occasional Tainted creature that trespassed onto their farm. Those incidents had been increasing in frequency even before the Warden-Commander’s official declaration that it was a Blight. Now, Caitlyn’s brother, Carver, was in the army, fighting at Ostagar. After he returned— _Maker willing, let him return,_ Leliana prayed—the family apparently intended to relocate somewhere else, somewhere safer.

Gwaren? Denerim? _Kirkwall?_ Cait’s mother was from there, and she believed that her brother now held a grand family manor and would allow his relations to move in and live in high style. It depended on Carver, apparently—whether he would have prolonged duties to serve the army in Ferelden.

Leliana herself had not decided what to do. She was not sworn to the Chantry and could leave if she wished. Perhaps the right thing to do was to go with Caitlyn wherever they went. How could she mourn—and, yes, resent—the fact that Caitlyn did not seem to include her as “family” if she herself did not follow beside her?

And yet, something had stayed her hand, kept her from telling her lover that she was going too. She could not explain what it was. Perhaps it was just cowardice of a sort. Perhaps she did not want to commit, for fear that someday she would yet be replaced by the one who had come before.

Leliana stepped outside to tend to the gardens, sighing at the state of them. It had been a bad winter, and perhaps there was a wellspring that was already befouled by Blight, but something had hurt the vegetation. The roses were shriveled and thorny, no flowers at all—

Her eyes widened at the sight of a new rose, growing on a bush that she had thought dead. _So there is beauty yet. The Blight cannot destroy everything._

She emerged into the sanctuary, her heart beating fast again, more confident than ever that her dream had not been just a dream. The Maker meant for her to have a part in fighting the Blight, and this was a message from Him. _But how?_ she thought. _What can I do against the Blight?_ For she had a feeling that this was not simply an exhortation from the Maker to give verbal comfort and assurances to people like the priests would. It was a call to action.

She could fight with her weapons, she supposed. She had not used them except occasionally, to keep in practice so she didn’t grow rusty, but she still had her old bow and a pair of daggers stored in her room, and she was still quite a good shot. Was she meant to become a Grey Warden, perhaps? But they were at Ostagar, preparing for battle. The Maker had not sent her this... this _vision,_ she decided it was, in time for her to go to Ostagar and ask to join.

The Revered Mother was waiting for her. “Sister Leliana,” she began, her voice kindly and her smile generous. “Good morning to you.”

“Revered Mother,” she said, smiling back. “The Maker’s blessings. And... if I might confide something to you and ask for counsel about its meaning....”

* * *

“Leliana, that interpretation of your dream... that is blasphemy.”

Leliana drew back, shocked and deeply hurt. “I would never blaspheme the Maker,” she protested feelingly. “I love Him and Andraste.”

The Revered Mother shook her head. “I know that you mean well, and that you believe what you say, but this is wrong. The Maker has turned His gaze away from the world. He spoke to no one but Andraste. Even the Divine only hears the voice of Andraste when she speaks with inspiration. For you to claim that this... this _dream,_ this common dream, and the fact that you saw a flower on our rosebushes, means that you are a prophet equal to Andraste—”

“I don’t believe that!” Leliana exclaimed. “Of course there is only one true prophet! But... but why would He give us free will if our choices do not matter? Why do we pray if not to reach the Maker? Why bother if He won’t listen? And if we do... why would He not occasionally have an answer?”

The priest glowered. “This goes beyond naïve but well-meant doctrinal ignorance, then,” she said icily. “You know what you say and you say it anyway.”

“What have I said that is so wrong?” she cried. “The Chantry itself preaches that prayers are sometimes answered, so the Maker can’t have ignored us. I know I am not equal to Andraste. It _would_ be blasphemous to claim that I am. But... I just think that the Maker has sent me a vision because He wants me to fight the Blight.”

“Leliana, the Blight is the Maker’s punishment upon the world for the sins of worshiping false gods and extolling magic.”

Leliana was angry now. “So what, then, we are to let the darkspawn win? Let a Tainted dragon, one of those false gods that the ancients worshiped, triumph? I will not do this.”

“That is not what I said.”

She heaved a frustrated, weary sigh. The moment of perfect understanding and joy that she’d had when she realized the meaning of her vision was gone. “What do you even object to, Revered Mother? You do not object to fighting the Blight, then; that is good. You do not deny that the Maker may answer prayers. I have told you that I do not claim to be like Andraste. What have I said that offends you so much? I wish you would tell me.”

The priest sighed too, scowling as she did. “You have always been a freethinker, Leliana. You came here, fleeing the sins of your past, and this Chantry sheltered you, as is our duty to all the Maker’s children. But you have not studied doctrine, not taken orders, yet you tell us of your ‘insights’ and ‘visions.’ We _welcome_ you if you wish to serve Andraste! But if you do, you need to do the work of understanding _what that means._ Do not make up your own doctrine based on your Fade-wanderings and notions of seeing the Maker in shrubbery because they are ‘pretty.’ We already _have_ doctrine.”

Absolutely crushed, Leliana rose from her seat, trying not to cry. “Doctrine has changed before,” she said in a low but pointed voice. “And why should I not ‘see the Maker in shrubbery’? Did He not create that rosebush? I see the Maker in you too, in all of His children. I wonder if you can say the same.” With that, she turned aside and left the building.

* * *

One thing that had always been a bit of a barrier between Leliana and Caitlyn—besides their past partners—had been the Chantry. Although a believer in some basic tenets like the existence of the Maker and the idea that Andraste had had a special relationship with Him, Caitlyn was bitter toward the institution in general and rejected all of its official doctrine about magic. As much as the bitterness grieved Leliana, she did understand why she felt so. She had known apostates before, all of whom loved their freedom, but none with settled families. Caitlyn, however, had never known anything else, and she had wanted to start her own—with another mage, meaning that Mal was almost certainly a mage too. Many mages had to be trained at a school, of course; they had no brilliant parent like the late Malcolm Hawke, but Leliana simply could not understand tearing families apart for life. It was not mere conservatism or doctrinal rigidity; it was unnatural and cruel.

Andraste would grieve if she returned to the world and saw what was done in her name, Leliana thought. She would grieve that elves were banned from joining the Chantry out of apparently unending punishment for the Dales. A previous Divine might have excised the part of Shartan from the Chant of Light, but he had been Andraste’s friend and disciple, and no Divine Decree could alter immutable historical fact. Mage and elf policies aside, she would grieve at the corruption and worldliness of the institution meant to represent her. Divines acted in service of the secular goals of emperors, the acquisition of land and gold. How could that be what Andraste, who had fought a great empire, would want? Perhaps she _did_ grieve from the Maker’s side.

Caitlyn made an exception for Leliana herself, of course, and she always had taken Leliana’s word about Mother Dorothea, Leliana’s mentor. Leliana was happy to talk about the priest with her. Dorothea supported doctrinal changes, and she had a network of agents. She had even made herself a close confidante of Divine Beatrix, despite their stark doctrinal disagreements. She was clearly positioning herself to be a candidate for the next Divine. Leliana had never told _that_ to Caitlyn, not wanting to raise hopes that might be dashed, but she had always tried to encourage her lover not to give up on the idea that there were other people in the Chantry who joined because of benevolent faith and charity toward all.

Now, though—after the priest had dismissed this meaningful, shocking, yet beautiful vision, and accused Leliana of _blasphemy_ for interpreting it as she did—well, Leliana thought she might feel a little bitterness too. It was not the first time over the course of the last two years that an extremely orthodox person had said her ideas about the Maker were blasphemous, but it hurt the most.

This priest had flaws, she knew. She had long known that the head priest of the Lothering chantry was... well, she hated to admit it, but bigoted and narrow-minded at times, presenting a pleasant face to some visitors while privately showing a side unlike what Leliana thought Andraste and the Maker would want. She had expressed prejudiced venom for elves in Leliana’s hearing, and she called women “harlots” if they did not rigidly adhere to her ideas of sexual chastity—clearly not knowing or caring that Leliana herself had once fit that description. She was glad in retrospect that this priest had had a cold the day that Caitlyn had gone to the Chantry to have Mal named; she certainly would have been subjected to such an insult with no father present for her son.

Leliana had tried to withhold her judgment of the priest despite her concerns for some of her attitudes. As a repentant bard, what right had she to judge _anyone_ for their failings? The world—with all its evils—had shaped everyone in it, and unjust prejudice was a common evil. All fell short of the Maker’s plan. It did not change the fact that the priest was a child of the Maker, as Leliana had told her before she left the Chantry.

 _It was much worse when she called a woman a base-born harlot or an elf gutter trash,_ Leliana told herself firmly. _That is unworthy. That is a sin. Her reaction to my vision is just her repeating what she has believed most of her life. She did not mean anything personally by it. I must forgive her and keep my focus on what I believe the Maker told me. That is what matters._

* * *

_“The Grey Wardens have come to town!”_

The rumor spread rapidly through the village. Leliana had barely left her private quarters at the Chantry since her unfortunate meeting with the Revered Mother, taking her meals alone and saying that she was in private contemplation. She was one of the last to hear the news, when she ventured out to tell Caitlyn about her vision and check on Carver Hawke.

Her lover had been taken aback by it, clearly unsure what to make of it—but at least her response was not to call it blasphemous, Leliana thought. And Carver was safe and well... though the news he brought from Ostagar was unspeakably bad. Half the army had been destroyed, with only a few lucky survivors, including himself. The King was dead, all the Grey Wardens were dead except for two, and the official claim was that those two had betrayed the King by deliberately delaying the signal for reinforcements until it was too late to do anything, or withholding from the King that the darkspawn could tunnel beneath the signal tower, or _something._ The actual claim was vague. Leliana did not believe it for a minute, in any case.

Given that they were accused of treason by Regent Loghain, Leliana was surprised that they were openly going about in town. She had to admire their courage, though. It inspired her. If two Grey Wardens could survive the horror and slaughter at Ostagar and suffer an unjust accusation of treason, yet still move about the countryside fearlessly, could she not help them?

Perhaps, then, _that_ was what the Maker had wanted her to do: fight beside the surviving Grey Wardens. The timing of her vision seemed significant.

The Hawkes were definitely going to evacuate to Kirkwall, though. It was settled, and they were packing up. That threw a wrench into the matter. Leliana realized that she had drifted away from Caitlyn in her heart for a while, as the sad reality sank in that their pasts were coming between them. A part of her had already given up on the relationship, ready to move on. But if Leliana left to fight beside the Grey Wardens, that was unquestionably the end. They could not possibly write to each other while Leliana was trekking across Ferelden to fight monsters. Caitlyn had her relatives, but in terms of a partner, she would be raising her son alone. Mal called her “Lel” instead of “Mama Lel,” which Leliana had to admit hurt a little... but in time, it might change. Maybe in Kirkwall, a fresh place for Caitlyn with no painful memories stirred up, they could finally put the past behind them and make a _true_ go of it. Going with the Wardens was closing the door on the possibility, and it felt mightily to Leliana like abandonment of Caitlyn and Mal.

_Abandonment... or taking the first opportunity of escape? Of adventure, of fighting, of being someone again, like I was when I was a bard._

That dark suspicion nagged at her, complicating the decision. On one hand, she was certain that the Maker wanted her to fight the Blight. On the other, she wondered if she believed that because she _wanted_ to believe it.

With no clarity from her contemplation in the Chantry, she finally decided to actually see these Grey Wardens for herself, speak to them, and decide what to do then. Where to find them, though? They—and a Chasind companion, the rumor went—were all over town, helping prepare people for the evacuation.

They might visit the Chantry—or they might not. They might have already done so and she had missed them. However, one place they certainly _would_ go eventually was the tavern, because even if they did not get a drink, that was also where the most well-established merchant plied his trade, and they would need to restock their supplies. She made her decision to head to Dane’s Refuge.

* * *

Leliana had not intended to get into a violent tavern brawl with the Teyrn’s men, but they were there, lurking to try to take the Wardens, and she was not going to stand for it. As soon as the trio entered the tavern and revealed who they were, the knights attacked, and Leliana joined the fray to beat them back and put an end to it. They had given up the fight when the Wardens’ Chasind companion revealed herself as a mage and began freezing foes left and right. Leliana was glad that it had been resolved without death, but she knew that the Wardens needed to leave Lothering as soon as they could.

And what a trio they were! The mage, named Morrigan, was attractive, Leliana thought, but she had a rather cruel look in her golden eyes, and in any case, Leliana could not say exactly _how_ she knew, but somehow, she knew that this was not a woman who was interested in other women. The male Warden was quite the looker, uncannily like paintings of King Maric that Leliana had seen, but he regarded Leliana herself as one might regard a two-headed turtle.

She supposed, belatedly, that it was not such a surprise that he apparently thought her half-mad. Practically the first words out of her mouth were a declaration that she needed to fight by their side, and the second words were the—admittedly unfortunate, the bard in her acknowledged—assertion that “the Maker told me to.” She supposed it _would_ sound odd to most.

But the other Warden! She was a beautiful woman, in the first place. That was the first thing that Leliana noticed. How could one _not_ notice her well-toned muscular body with the kind of leathers that she wore? The bow, quiver, sword, and dagger she carried revealed how she had come by those muscles. A pair of intelligent blue-grey eyes met Leliana’s as she introduced herself as Elissa Cousland.

 _Cousland._ The daughter of the Teyrn of Highever. Even when she served Marjolaine, Leliana had never had much business in the north, but everyone in Ferelden knew about that family. There was pain in Elissa’s eyes as she named herself, though—pain that heightened as she spoke her surname. Leliana wondered what had caused it. Had she already lost family to the Blight?

However, what was most compelling of all about Elissa Cousland was that she alone of the trio did not judge Leliana for her vision.

“Could you... elaborate?” she had asked in careful tones, skepticism peeking through—Leliana was not surprised at all by _that—_ but none of the arrogant dismissal or amused alarm that the others were showing.

So Leliana explained that she believed she’d had a vision about the Blight and a message from the Maker that she personally needed to fight it. When the word was that Grey Wardens were in Lothering, her path forward seemed clear.

“Are you going to bring along a Chantry mouse who has _visions?”_ sneered Morrigan.

“I actually agree with Morrigan on this one,” said the male Warden, who was called Alistair.

Elissa silenced them with a look. “She fights well, she seems perfectly sane, and she wants to help us. Why _shouldn’t_ she come along? I’m planning to go back and let that Qunari out too. We need all the help we can get.”

“Perfectly sane?” the mage repeated scornfully.

“She had a dream. That’s completely normal. She believes the Maker sent her this dream. Maybe He didn’t. Maybe He did. You don’t know and neither do I. The fact is that she is the only person we’ve met who has offered to _help_ us, and she can clearly fight. If she wants to come, she’s welcome.”

“If we have to listen to preaching about what she thinks her ‘Maker’ wants us to do on every occasion....” Morrigan warned.

“I do not do such things. Unlike some in the Chantry, I recognize that... that some decisions are gray and complex,” Leliana assured them, her heart beating rapidly in excitement. Nevertheless, she thought, with amused irony, that the fact that Warden Cousland was so welcoming and non-judgmental of her was another sign from the Maker that this was the right course.

“If you want to come,” Elissa said, turning back to Leliana with a knowing smile that the bard was certain she had not imagined, “we’re leaving town shortly. There are a couple of things we have yet to do, but if you want to join us, meet us in the town square in... three hours.”

 _Just three hours?_ she thought, suddenly disquieted. The question of Caitlyn and her son still nagged.... “Where are you going after this?” she managed.

“We have treaties between the Grey Wardens and our ancient allies: the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar, and the Circle of Magi. We’re also going to see about Arl Eamon as a noble ally, most likely.”

 _The Circle of Magi!_ Leliana’s mind was made up. This was, beyond any doubt, a sign from the Maker. It could be nothing else. She would travel there with the Wardens, get Caitlyn’s old lover free, send him back to her—a final gift, a gift of faith—and then move ahead secure in the knowledge that Caitlyn would finally heal in her heart and her son would know his father. _Thank you, Maker,_ she thought. _Thank you for this sign. I am not to go with the Hawkes to Kirkwall and I know it now. I have long known that my relationship with her had its flaws, and that they could not be fixed so long as this barrier existed. I have known it and I have built a barrier myself in reaction. I have... drifted from her. But now I understand what You mean for me to do for her. My future is not with her. I... I think I’ve been good for her... and she has been good for me... and we shall always be friends... but my future lies before me now._

* * *

She was packing her things quickly, deciding on how to break the news to Caitlyn, when the subject of her thoughts appeared herself in the room. “You’re leaving,” Caitlyn said flatly.

Leliana closed a case. “We must all leave,” she said quietly. “You should go with your family—your mother is taking you to Kirkwall, no? To be with your uncle?”

“That’s what she hopes. Leliana, is the Chantry sending you somewhere?”

“I am not sworn to the Chantry,” she said. “I can go where I wish.”

“Then....”

This was going to be harder than Leliana had thought. “Caitlyn.”

“Leliana, please, you’re scaring me. What is going on? Aren’t you coming with us?”

“No,” Leliana admitted. “I am not.”

“But... you would be welcome,” she said feebly. “Does this have something to do with your vision?”

“It does, but there is more.”

“Are you... breaking up with me?” Her voice was suddenly small.

 _And there it is,_ Leliana thought. It had to be, but it was still painful. “I... do not regret what we have had,” she said, that pain coming out in her words, “and I will always value you as a friend. But it is clear to me that I have never had your heart.” She looked the apostate in the face. “You still love him.”

“Don’t accuse me of that,” Caitlyn suddenly snarled.

“Saying you love someone is hardly an _accusation,”_ Leliana said gently.

But there was no stopping the sudden burst of pent-up rage now. “It was a _mistake,”_ Caitlyn replied, shocking venom in her tone. “We’d have been better off if I’d never met him. Actually, Father and I should have let the Blight wolves take him the very first night—or the blizzard.”

 _Control yourself,_ Leliana thought, scowling. Yes, it was time. It hurt, but this was clarity. Even without the vision and manifest confirmation of it in her meeting with the Wardens, this alone would have been proof that the time had come. Caitlyn did not belong in a relationship with _anyone_ while she still harbored this much anger at someone who might not have even wronged her. “You are better than this, Caitlyn. I do understand how you feel, I think—”

“No you don’t,” the mage replied spitefully.

 _You know that is not true and you say it anyway because this has broken down your wall and you are lashing out at everyone now._ “Yes,” Leliana said coolly, “I do. I actually _was_ betrayed by a person I loved, so I understand heartbreak quite well. And I also believe that you said that vicious thing about him to try to convince me that you do not care about him, that your heart belongs to me, so that I will go to Kirkwall with your family—but Caitlyn, it was not meant to be.” Her tone became compassionate and gentle again. “I realize that now. I am glad that I could be there for you, and I will always consider you a friend, but....”

That broke Caitlyn just as Leliana had feared. “But it’s over?” she whispered. “Because you think I never stopped loving someone else?”

“I know you did not stop,” she said gently, “and you never had a reason to. He gave you his mother’s ring and left you with a promise. He didn’t leave you; he was taken from you. I understand why you cannot let go of him. But it is unfair to _me.”_

Caitlyn suddenly reached for Leliana, who shrank away. They could not go back. Not now. And the touch of her lover... _former_ lover... would only cloud her conviction, just as Leliana’s own longing for love and affection had clouded her knowledge of the truth about this relationship from the very beginning.

“Leliana, no!” she cried as the bard pulled away. “It’s not true! It’s been three years. He’s never coming back.”

“To Lothering? Probably not. I hope not—because you and your family must leave as soon as you can,” Leliana emphasized. “But that does not mean you will not see him again. I know you want to. And I also know that, although you tell yourself that he would have returned if he wanted, you do not entirely believe that, do you?”

She shook her head in refusal. “Don’t do this. Don’t make me hurt again.”

 _And there it is. She has hidden from it for so long._ “I do not want to hurt you,” Leliana said, keeping compassion in her voice even though she wanted Caitlyn to face it at last. She was going to send Anders back to her; she _needed_ to face it so that they stood a chance as a couple. This was a _gift,_ though it was hard for Caitlyn to receive right now. “I am sorry that this causes you pain—but the wound never healed. You have simply bandaged it with this belief of which you have tried to convince yourself, this idea that he has stayed because he wanted to.” Finally braving the danger of touch, she tilted Caitlyn’s head up, gazing into green eyes brimming with tears. “You know as well as I that he might be locked in that tower, watched far too closely for him to stand a chance of escape, due to his... record.”

The apostate shook her head again. “Don’t,” she pleaded feebly.

It hurt, oh it hurt, but sometimes hard truths hurt. Facing them was the only way to make the pain fade. “It has to be said. Perhaps you are right, but you do not know that you are. You have avoided this possibility for a long time.”

“Why do you want me to think that?” Caitlyn exclaimed wretchedly. “If you’re right, he’s suffered far more than I have. Why do I need to think of that? It doesn’t help _anything._ If he is locked up, there’s nothing we can do about it.” She swallowed hard. “You know—you are right. I obviously never stopped loving him, and it _is_ because he never gave me a reason to. He was sweet, and considerate, and I could tell that he meant to come back. He wanted to be part of my family, truly.” Another sob. “I don’t want to think of him suffering, locked up somewhere in that tower. I’d _rather_ think he changed his mind and is staying by choice. A lot can happen in three years.”

“I understand that, but you don’t believe it, do you?” Leliana pressed. This was progress, but she could not let Caitlyn revert to her old shield of perceived grievance. “Do you _truly_ think he would knowingly abandon his child after making promises and being sweet and tender to you?”

She had been relieved to lance the boil, but she wondered if she had pushed her... friend... too far at last when Caitlyn gave her an utterly broken look. “Why are you doing this to me? If you want to end it between us, then just do that. Is this revenge for having to ‘share’ my heart for so long? I didn’t mean to do that to you. I tried to move on—I really did. That was the point of trying to believe—as you said. Whatever else you may think of me, please don’t think that I was just using you.”

 _Oh, it is not revenge, and I know you weren’t using me. I am so sorry that it hurts you, truly. Maker, let her heal, please._ Leliana gave her a chaste hug as guilt washed over her for the fact that Caitlyn entertained this idea at all. “I know. I’m sorry for hurting you, and it certainly is not ‘revenge.’ I do have a reason for saying this.”

Caitlyn waited. Leliana steeled herself. She had come to her resolution to fight the Blight, her hope of finding Caitlyn’s Anders in the Circle and that all would go as happily for them as she wanted it to, her _faith_ that her hopes would be borne out because she believed with all her heart in a loving Maker who had given her a purpose and a command. “I have made a decision. I am going to leave with the Grey Wardens to fight the Blight.”

“What?” Caitlyn exclaimed, stunned with this turn of the conversation. “But you could die!”

 _I could. I could die. But... Warden Cousland... I have hope that I will not...._ But she did not say this to Caitlyn. It was grotesque to say right now that she found another woman interesting and had wild ideas that perhaps her future lay with that lady—grotesque, presumptuous, and cruel. “My vision already told me that I should go with them, but I was unsure; I questioned what I believed the Maker showed me, because I did not know what was the right thing to do by you. This talk has made it clear to me that it is the correct path.”

_“Leliana!”_

So she was beginning to accept it but still revolted against the pain. That was understandable... but Leliana hoped that what she had to say next would dull that pain too. “I’m sorry,” she said gently. “This path has been laid out before me, and I must take it. But there is one thing I can do for you, I think.” She paused, considering how best to say it. “The Wardens are going to the Circle. I have spoken with Warden Cousland in Dane’s Refuge, and she tells me that the mages are traditional allies of the Wardens in Blights. You must not tarry in Lothering too long, but I will urge them to visit the Circle before trying to recruit other allies, so you should have enough time for me to send word. I will tell them that they should release Anders to you if he is there. I promise you this. If he is there and still loves you, I _will_ get him out.” _The mages will be let out to fight beside the Wardens, and the Wardens themselves can conscript anyone they want into the Order, including Circle Mages. There are ways that I can make good on my word, so that I am not making a promise that is outside my power to keep._

But with that thought, the brilliant certainty of her faith dimmed. _What if...._ She paused before adding, hating the words and the terrible doubt, “And if he has... gone to the Maker since Sketch last sent me information about him... or does not wish to be reunited with you… I will send word of that to you too.”

Caitlyn wiped her eyes and scowled. “If it’s the latter, make him fight the darkspawn.”

Leliana realized that Caitlyn had at last accepted that this was the end for them as a couple. It was a relief in a way... Caitlyn would be all right now, and that was the one thing that had been holding Leliana back from certainty in her vision... but this was still an end, and even though their relationship had not been perfect, it had been sweet and loving, and its end was something to mourn. “I certainly will,” she said, a sad laugh escaping her as tears filled her eyes too.

As Caitlyn finally left the room, Leliana gazed at her possessions. _Two and a half years,_ she thought. _But this time in my life is over. I have done all I can for her, and I will always care for her as a friend. But I have to let her go now. She is sad, but she will come to terms with it, especially if this works out as I have hope and faith that it will. It is time for me to follow a new path._

As she gathered up her possessions, she felt a renewed sense of purpose.

* * *

The sun was low in the sky when she reached the center of town. Lothering was settling down for the night. She passed Ser Bryant, the head Templar of the Lothering Chantry, a kind man whom she had always liked. He was ignoring Morrigan, instead focusing on organizing a caravan for the main evacuation party. They would head north. Leliana regretted for a moment that Caitlyn and her family were not going with this well-supplied and well-protected party... clearly, Ser Bryant had better things to do than arrest harmless mages when his town was threatened by thousands of darkspawn, and he surely would have left her family alone... but the Hawkes were not going north. They were going east to Gwaren instead.

 _Maker protect them all on their journeys,_ she prayed as she passed by.

Finally she found the Wardens and their ally in the town square, clustered around a cylindrical cage in which a Qunari soldier stood. Leliana was surprised to see him there; she had heard of his crime from the Revered Mother and other priests, but she had assumed that he had been put to death for it. Was he left in this cage instead? That seemed wrong to her. And Elissa Cousland... was she unlocking the door with the priest’s key?

No, she was picking the lock, Leliana realized. As an expert in the art of breaking and entering herself, she recognized a set of lock-picking tools. Why in the Maker’s name had a daughter of the Teyrn of Highever learned such a skill? Despite her initial physical attraction to Elissa Cousland and the warmth she had felt when the Warden had not scoffed at her or dismissed her vision, she had still assumed that such a woman would be... well, very traditional.

Her sharp gaze darted to the pretty brunette’s belt, which held... a set of poison flasks. Some might be obscure, but Leliana knew deathroot extract when she saw it. _Interesting, indeed._

Her blue eyes widened as Elissa expertly picked the lock on the Qunari’s cage. “The Revered Mother mentioned this man,” she finally said, “as the murderer of a whole family....”

“He confessed it himself to me,” Elissa said, “but implied that he might have lost his mind—and showed remorse, and the desire to atone for it.”

That struck Leliana deeply. “We all have regrets,” she said, “and some of us are indeed guilty of grave sins. We _should_ atone when given the opportunity.” Her face turned indignant. “The Revered Mother did not say that she had locked him in this cage to be left for the darkspawn. Even a murderer does not deserve that! How could she have been so cruel?”

She reflected on her own upsetting experience with the Revered Mother. Still... leaving a man for the darkspawn was unspeakable, a direct repudiation of Archon Hessarian’s act of mercy for Andraste herself. The man should be put to use—or to death, but not like this.

Morrigan was speaking, wicked delight in her words. “The harridan informed our Wardens that they were accused of treason and that all she could do was keep their presence a secret, then demanded coin for a chantry that is soon to fall—or for a ‘blessing,’” she said gleefully. “’Twas a blatant attempt to extort, if you ask me.”

“We _didn’t_ ask you,” Alistair muttered.

Elissa released the latch. “I don’t want to discuss the Revered Mother unless Leliana has something to say about her. Otherwise we don’t have any further business with her. For the record, though... the cruelty of this punishment goes far beyond death by darkspawn.”

Alistair drew back suddenly, realizing what she meant.

“Perhaps the darkspawn would have killed you if you had remained in the cage when they arrived,” she said to the Qunari, “or perhaps they would have Tainted you, so that you transformed into a ghoul and actually fought _with_ their horde. A Qunari ghoul would be... formidable... and even though ghouls do die, they can do a lot of damage first—a lot of killing.”

The warrior was deeply disturbed and affected by this. “A ghoul—this is said to be the Tainted husk of a conscious being.”

“Yes, and they act like darkspawn and fight on their ‘side.’”

“That is no atonement at all,” he declared. “I did not know.”

“I _hope_ that the Revered Mother didn’t know either,” Elissa said. “In any case,” she continued, turning back to Leliana with another sly little smile—Leliana was _positive_ she was not imagining it—“welcome. Both of you.”

She smiled, her heart fluttering like the wings of a bird in flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to Simon & Garfunkel for that scene. It was just too much for me to resist... and the original song _is_ a very old ballad, anyway. Lots of meanings and layers to that scene, though.
> 
> Apparently, the Revered Mother of Lothering calls the City Elf “gutter-born” or any female Warden a “base-born harlot” if you try to command her to release Sten, so although I never liked her even before learning that, I’m not just inventing stuff for the sake of bashing.
> 
> I’ve tried to depict Leliana’s relationship with Caitlyn gradually ending on its own, because of the ultimately unbridgeable barriers between them, which Leliana finally accepted, rather than making this look like a fanatic cruelly breaking up because “the Maker told her to.” I’m not sure I succeeded... and I’m sorry if I did not.
> 
> Next chapter is probably Elissa POV.


	11. A Blanket of Stars

“You do not truly think I look as my mother does, do you?”

“Have you really been thinking about that all this time?”

“I am simply curious.”

“And not insecure in the slightest, I’m sure.”

Elissa tried to control her temper as the bickering continued. She was not going to tell anyone, but she felt like she was barely keeping herself together. The events of the past couple of weeks were too much, altogether too much.

_No, not too much,_ she corrected herself in thought.  _If they were too much, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself together. But I feel like my sanity is hanging by a thread—and a fraying one._ Her companions were  _not_ helping. Morrigan and Alistair would not stop sniping at each other, and Sten was almost incomprehensible to her in his ways and ideas. He had even questioned why they were stopping to make camp for the night, apparently believing that they should continue until they could not take another step. The Qunari were an alien culture. She had recruited him because she needed his blade, he wished to atone for his action, and the only reasonable alternative that she could see was simply executing him on the spot—because letting the darkspawn corrupt him into a ghoul was not an option. She hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

Her cogitation was interrupted sharply by the sound of a dog barking and a man cooing. What was Alistair doing? She gazed across the campfire, where he was feeding her dog... something... that Oscar did not want to eat. Elissa had had enough experience already with Alistair’s cooking that she didn’t blame her dog. But this was an opening for her to broach a subject that had been gnawing at her ever since they picked up Morrigan. She headed over to where he stood.

“Your dog doesn’t like my... cooked... _really_ cooked... um... meat chop.”

Elissa shrugged. “Mabari _are_ known for their intelligence.”

“I can’t even take offense.” He sniffed the leather-tough object. “Whew.”

She chuckled, but only for a moment. In the next, she became serious. “You and I are the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden,” she said in a low voice.

He nodded morosely, sadness suddenly filling his face. “I can still hardly believe it.”

She hadn’t meant this to turn into mourning—though she supposed that she should have foreseen it. He had only been a Grey Warden for six months, but they were his family of sorts. “There will be time to grieve,” she said quietly. “But what I meant was... we’re now in charge. You are senior, so  _you_ are in charge if—”

“No!” he objected loudly enough that the others in the camp looked up. He lowered his voice. “I don’t want to be in charge! I’m not _that_ senior to you. And when Weisshaupt picks a new Warden-Commander, it won’t necessarily be the one who has been a Warden for the longest. I want you to lead.”

“All right,” she said. This was how he had already behaved so far, as if she was in charge, but she was relieved to have it official and explicit. That way she would not need to fear that he resented it. It was already apparent to Elissa that she had more leadership skill, but seniority and time of service also counted with most people, and it was good to know that he didn’t desire a position that—in brutal honesty—he would not do as well as she thought she would. “Is Weisshaupt going to send more Wardens our way, do you think?”

He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know if they would even know how to find us now. We might be on our own.”

Well, there it was—the topic she had wanted to discuss. “We may not have to be,” she said. “We have companions who want to fight the Blight beside us, but they are not protected from the Taint like we are. It seems to me an instance of killing two birds with one stone if we could give them the Joining—rebuild the Wardens and offer them protection from the disease.”

Alistair shook his head. “I don’t know how to make the Joining formula,” he admitted, “and I don’t have all the ingredients either.”

Elissa gaped at him. “But surely Duncan kept these things somewhere. The Grey Wardens have a headquarters, don’t they?”

“A Warden Compound in Denerim, a part of the Royal Palace,” he said. “Good luck getting into _that_ with _Loghain_ in charge.” He shook his head again. “Duncan... I can’t believe it....”

Elissa was grateful to Duncan for saving her life, but she had barely known him, and she had not known the other Grey Wardens at all. She was sorry that he was dead, but his death paled in comparison with the deaths of her family—the people she had known her whole life. And Fergus—what had happened to him? Had he returned from the Wilds to fight? Given how badly battle had gone, Elissa rather hoped that he hadn’t... but the darkspawn were overrunning the Wilds too. How could Fergus possibly have survived?

_My family is gone,_ she thought.  _I am the last Cousland._ The thought, which should have been overpowering, felt strangely dull and empty—lifeless itself.  _What is wrong with me? My family is gone and I can just... canvass that idea... without doubling over in grief. What kind of monster does that?_

Alistair, she thought sadly, was expressing more grief for his mentor of six months than she was for her family. On one level she knew that it was because this was a survival mechanism, a way to  _avoid_ being overcome, to keep going and do her duty... but it still felt ugly and wrong.  _I thought I would get to mourn them after Ostagar. We were supposed to win. I was to go to Denerim with the rest of the Grey Wardens and have a roof over my head, meals cooked for me, two dozen warriors and mages fighting beside me, so that it wasn’t all put on me—me and another very junior Warden who defers to me. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to have time for my family._ She didn’t, though. One thing after another had happened, and now, the responsibility for ending the Blight was on her shoulders. She felt alone, despite her companions. She didn’t have the emotional capacity right now to embrace her own grief, and it felt false to pretend to share this with him. She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, a sad look, and left him to his thoughts.

Oscar was gnawing at a bone, and with a weak smile, she decided to leave him to it. Morrigan had already made camp well away from everyone else, which suited Elissa, because it meant distance between her and Alistair. Sten was meditating upon the Qun, she guessed. She hoped he did not try to convert them. Morrigan had sneered about that possibility with Leliana, but—

_Leliana!_ Elissa felt ashamed as she realized she had almost forgotten about the one companion who was  _not_ causing more stress or frustration for her. As she looked for the pretty Chantry sister, she pored over the memories of her.

_She believes she had a vision from the Maker,_ Elissa thought, fixing upon a crop of red hair.  _She has faith. I... could use some faith right now._

She sat down beside Leliana, who looked pleased to see her. “Yes?” she said in her musical voice.

“I was wondering... could you tell me more about your vision?” Elissa asked her, looking into her eyes. They were very pretty eyes, she thought....

Leliana sighed. “I knew this would come up.”

Elissa understood at once what her companion thought. “No!” she said. “It’s not like that. I just....” She sighed. “I wish I’d experienced it. I wish I had anything I could think of as a sign from the Maker... an indication that He cares about us, that He is looking out for this mission....”

Leliana gazed sympathetically at her. “I believe He does. I truly do. As I said in Lothering, it was a dream—yet no mere dream. It felt... strangely real. And then the rosebush had flowered, the dead, gnarled one. Everyone knew it was dead, yet it flowered. Then, learning that you were in town, learning that you were going to go... and seek allies against the Blight....”

She broke off, unsure how much to tell Elissa. It felt strange to tell this woman that she had just, that very day, ended a relationship of almost ten months but was hoping to find the man that her former lover still loved and return him to her. It would sound as if she were  _not_ over Caitlyn yet, and that she might have joined the party for personal reasons instead of a lofty one. “There are so many good things in the Maker’s world,” Leliana finally said. “How can I sit by while the Blight devours... everything?”

Elissa did not know what had been going through Leliana’s mind, and her face gave away nothing. “You can’t,” she agreed. “But... I guess... and I am not trying to chip away at your faith. I just have doubts and questions myself, and I can’t answer them alone. The Chantry says that the Maker has turned His gaze away from the world, that He has left us. And I’ve seen so much... especially lately,” she said, her voice dropping to a choked whisper, “that appears to support that. Why would He send you a vision if that’s true?”

“The defeat at Ostagar is not the end,” Leliana said feelingly. “Those who perished there have been taken to the Maker’s side, but you and Alistair survived, and to me, that seems evidence that the Maker has not forsaken us. There are still Grey Wardens, so there is still hope against the Blight.”

_She doesn’t know,_ Elissa realized.  _She hasn’t heard about Highever._ “It’s not just Ostagar,” she managed. “Ostagar was... a battle. Alistair thinks that Teyrn Loghain was to blame for everything, and I’d certainly like to have some  _words_ with Loghain about his accusation against us  _afterward,_ but... the battle was lost because the signal tower was a single point of failure and it  _failed._ The darkspawn undermined it and delayed us from reaching the top. Things happen in battle; things go wrong. It wasn’t the malice of people that caused that.”

Leliana, former bard that she was, instantly realized that something was wrong. Elissa was hurting, and “the malice of people” was to blame. “What else happened?” she asked gently. “If you want to tell me, that is. If you are able to. Please forgive me.”

Elissa took a deep breath. “My family, the Couslands of Highever....” She broke off. “Arl Howe of Amaranthine entered our home as a guest, in trust and friendship, and betrayed my family on the eve of battle,” she said bluntly. Leliana looked horrified, but Elissa continued, unable to stop now. “His vile men killed every person in the castle, even defenseless servants, even  _children._ I saw my nephew cut down in his bedroom. I was the only survivor. Duncan, the Warden-Commander who died at Ostagar, took me away. My brother was gone, but I have no idea if he survived the battle or not.”

“Oh, my....” Leliana’s face was twisted in repulsion and grief. “I am so, so sorry. I had no idea... I’m so sorry... please forgive me for asking you to talk about this....”

Elissa took a deep breath. It was cathartic to have said it, but now, she just felt empty again. “You would have felt bad to hear it from someone else first and to realize that you’d spoken to me without knowing about it.”

“I suppose so. Still... if there is anything I can do....”

Elissa gazed at her intensely. “We are the Second Children of the Maker, so the Chantry teaches. He created the spirits and  _‘knew that He had wrought amiss,’”_ she said bitterly, quoting from the Chant of Light. “We are supposed to be the improvement from that!” Her anger at the Maker for letting all this happen to her, her doubt and grief, was bursting out, after being kept inside since Ostagar, and poor Leliana had to take the brunt of it. Tears formed in her eyes, much to her shame. She was grateful for the darkness, so that Leliana might not be able to see them. She turned aside from the firelight. “He gave us free will and complexity, and  _this_ is what we do with it!” She took a heavy breath. “And that’s why the Chantry teaches that the Maker has left the world.”

Leliana’s heart went out to her. She wanted to reach for her, to pull her into her arms, but they had just met; it was too soon. “That is not all that we do with our free will,” she said gently. “Others... help Blight refugees escape their town. Fight for the defenseless. Become Grey Wardens.”

Elissa hung her head, embarrassed at making herself this vulnerable. She had just met Leliana, and she was going to have to lead this party. What must this companion think of her for showing such weakness?

“We could not make choices to do good if the choice to do evil were not possible,” she said. “A good choice would have no meaning if a bad choice did not also exist as a possibility for us.”

Elissa sighed, raising her gaze. “I’m sorry. I should have....”

“The Maker has not left the world,” Leliana said firmly. “He is here still. I hear Him in the wind and the waves, I feel Him in the sunlight that warms my skin. I sense His love in those of us who help others when we gain nothing from it, when in fact we risk ourselves to do it.” She gazed ahead. “There are people in the Chantry who say my ideas are blasphemy, heresy. But what should I believe? What I feel in my heart, or what others tell me? By their own doctrine, they are no closer to the Maker than I.”

Elissa was practically crying as Leliana spoke of the Maker in the earth itself. She remembered the cliffs of the Storm Coast, the fragrant woods of Highever, the wind in her face, the wolf running beside her....

_It’s gone,_ she thought, controlling herself.  _That part of my life is gone. My destiny is now an ancient Tainted dragon that imagines itself a god. And that’s if I’m lucky enough to survive to face it._

“I want to help you,” Leliana said quietly, and with that, Elissa realized that they had been silent for a while. She looked up, figuring it was hopeless to try to hide the tears. “It will seem trite... and I know that you wish they were still here, with you. They should be. Not everything that happens is the Maker’s will, that I believe. But... they are with Him now, and _you_ are still here.”

“And I have a task to do, I know,” she said. “A duty, I was chosen to stay alive for a reason, all that. Heard it before.” There was a lot of bitterness and scorn in her words, and she felt bad about it. Leliana had been kind to her tonight. And the worst thing was, Elissa did see the truth in these kinds of statements. But that did not make them any easier to accept, as one who had suffered losses. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to mock you. You didn’t say those things.”

“I know,” Leliana said. “And it is easy for someone to say this sort of thing, is it not, when _they_ did not suffer that loss and do not have that duty?”

Elissa managed a laugh. Leliana smiled back wryly.

“There was something else, though,” Elissa said. “Something else that bothers me, and it _is_ about Ostagar. Alistair and I were sent to light a signal beacon at the top of a tower. Do you know how we survived?”

“I... had not thought about it. Did you hide in the tower until it ended?”

“No. This is going to sound absurd, but I swear to you that it is true. We....” She took a deep breath. “Darkspawn attacked. I fell. And the next thing I remember was waking up in a hut in the Wilds that belonged to an old woman, an old mage. Morrigan’s mother. She had shape-shifted and carried us out of the tower to be healed. And she claimed that she was Flemeth, the legendary Witch of the Wilds.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Oh—really? Was it truly she?” Fascination and awe filled her voice.

“Perhaps,” Elissa said. “If she is an abomination or a blood mage, it very well could have been. That... troubles me.” Elissa slipped a nimble hand under her leather chestpiece and rubbed a scar on her chest. “I... think she must have been waiting there already, because this was a mortal wound. I’ve heard of mage Healers who can cast a lifeward that saves someone even on the very brink of death... provided that the wound itself can be healed. Obviously, this one could.” She gathered her thoughts. “But a darkspawn put arrows through my chest. That’s not survivable without powerful magic. I should be dead.”

“As you said, people can survive wounds that should be mortal if a Healer is at hand,” Leliana said gently.

“But if she _is_ Flemeth, then I survived because a murderous witch who kept herself alive by Maker knows what means for six Ages saved me. I am alive because of _that._ How could _that_ be the Maker’s plan? How can I imagine He cares about me if the only reason I’m still here is someone like her?”

Leliana realized what was troubling Elissa. She considered carefully how to respond before speaking again. “Not everything that happens in this world is the Maker’s will in and of itself,” she said, “but... I do believe that the Maker can _use_ anything that happens, even when we do something wrong—if this is indeed Flemeth, the wrong that _she_ has done. I believe He can use anyone for His greater purpose.” Daringly, Leliana took Elissa’s hands and sat upright. “I think the Maker sent a vision to me that I needed to fight the Blight and then sent you into my path... or me into yours. And if that is true, then He means for you to fight the Blight, and He used Flemeth to make that possible. He can use any of us, no matter how imperfect we are.”

Elissa considered this. It was what she wanted to hope and believe, that the Maker had a plan for her, that the evil of men, the malice of the Archdemon, and the incomprehensible motives of an ancient abomination had not been the only forces driving the events of the past fortnight. Perhaps Leliana was right. The old witch _had_ wanted the Wardens saved, and perhaps that was enough for the Maker to work with.

Leliana reached into her pack and removed a book. Elissa noticed sheets of waxed parchment between the leaves, the kind used to press flowers. “You plucked the bloom?”

“The darkspawn will overrun Lothering, but He showed me this flower for a reason. It was like He reached out to me and said, ‘Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty. Have faith.’ He wanted _me_ to see it, a symbol of faith... so I have preserved it, so that I can always look at it, even in the darkest hour, and remember that faith. The darkspawn will not take it.”

Elissa thought about it, nodding.

“I hope I was able to help you tonight,” Leliana said. “If you need to talk to me again about any of this... or anything else... I am always here.”

* * *

As Elissa lay on her bedroll, she thought about the discussion. The truth was, she had no _hard_ evidence for Leliana’s vision even after talking with her, yet she did feel better. _Did I just need to talk to her?_ she thought. _Was that it? Did I already know that I wasn’t going to learn anything to “prove” the vision, and I was all right with that because what I really wanted was to experience Leliana’s confidence in her own faith?_

_I do hope that this hasn’t undermined me in her eyes,_ she thought.  _I am supposed to be the leader of this group. I hope I didn’t just destroy that. But... somehow... it felt safe. I don’t think she will abuse the trust I granted her. I don’t know why I granted it to her... I’ve just met her... and maybe it is only because she is the one companion who was not making my mood worse... but I do feel that this was all right—that she is someone I can trust._

_I have faith that it was all right,_ she thought, a wry, amused smile finally forming on her face.

* * *

Elissa found it odd to sleep in armor, but she wore leathers, so it wasn’t completely uncomfortable so long as she kept from putting pressure on a metal buckle. After Highever, and with the knowledge that a darkspawn horde was just days behind them, she was not going to risk awakening to a fight without some protection. But there were downsides to it, too, and she needed to clean herself. There was a strong stream nearby, fortunately.

The water was cool, due to the fact that it was still spring and they were rather far south still. But Elissa had taken cool baths before, and after the initial shock, it felt rather good to let the current wash away the sweat, oil, and general feeling of grubbiness that came from wearing leather all night. She sighed and went deeper into the stream, the water covering her breasts. No one could see her body unless they were right beside her.

_We have to move on today,_ she thought, closing her eyes and just half-floating in the current.  _I wish I could stay here forever, right here, just feel the sun on my skin, the wind and waves on my body... and maybe eventually feel the Maker’s presence in it, like Leliana can... but I cannot. The darkspawn will come and they will befoul this place. I must go, gather allies, to stop them from befouling everything. What first, though?_

A pang hit her. _If I leave this area, I will be giving up on finding Fergus myself. Can I do that?_

* * *

“All right,” she said later, after they had all eaten breakfast. “We need to decide where to go from here.”

The others seemed to approve. Leliana in particular looked eager to speak, but before she could, Elissa burst out with the thought that she could not let go. “We’re still several days ahead of the horde, though. They are likely to plunder the Wilds and Ostagar thoroughly before they move on, so we do have a little time. And I... still may have my brother.” She sighed heavily, pausing to swallow a lump, before continuing. “The King said he was scouting the Wilds before Ostagar. There are still Chasind fleeing the Wilds. I know that we can’t go looking for him, but if he met up with a group of refugees....”

Sten, Leliana, and Alistair looked unhappy, and Morrigan shook her head. “Sitting here and waiting would be extremely foolish.”

“That’s nice,” Alistair muttered sarcastically.

“’Tis true, though. We cannot stay in this place, waiting until all the stragglers have passed through and darkspawn are then upon us. We will either find this man with other survivors later, or... not at all.”

Alistair rubbed his head. “You know... I would have put it more charitably... but she’s right.”

“I am afraid so,” Leliana said in compassionate tones. “If he survived the scouting and the battle, he will head back to civilization. If he did not... then we _would_ be waiting in vain until the horde overtook us. I am sorry.” _And we must get to the Circle,_ she thought. _If we do not, I will have asked Caitlyn to do precisely that—for word that would not come. We must be on our way._

“Fine,” Elissa said, sighing heavily. It hurt, but she could see the logic of it—and the Blight would not wait for one man, not even her brother. “In that case, we have three groups of allies bound by treaty. The Circle is closest, but Orzammar would provide an army used to fighting darkspawn. And an alliance with the dwarven king would surely give our... friends... in Denerim pause.”

“What about Arl Eamon?” Alistair said. “I thought we were going to go to Redcliffe. We need a nobleman on our side.”

“I agree, but Arl Eamon isn’t the only option. I am a Grey Warden now, but I’m still a Cousland, and my family has worked with Arl Bryland, the banns of the Coastlands, and Arl Wulff before. Besides, Arl Eamon is said to be ill.”

“Arl Eamon is ill?” Leliana said.

“Yes, a Templar in Lothering said so. It seems to be bad. We don’t know that he _can_ help us, Alistair.”

“That’s all the more reason to go to him! If he can’t help us, we should try to help him. That man raised me. I can’t just turn my back on him!”

Elissa rubbed her forehead. Was she in charge or not? She could not see how going to the bedside of a sick man would be of any use, as opposed to going to old Cousland allies. She could even tell them about Fergus and set _them_ looking for the rightful Teyrn of Highever. She did not want to admit to herself just how much of her inclination to seek out other nobles was indeed for that very reason. She _was_ a Grey Warden, and a Blight was on. That was her primary duty. But her family should have justice, and part of that meant seating a Cousland in Highever rather than the usurping murderous Howe. What good would it do to go the bedside of an arl who might be dying? _I suppose it depends on who is running the arling while he’s ill,_ she thought. _Perhaps Eamon’s brother has taken charge and can act in his name._ “Morrigan, Leliana, Sten—what do you think?” she asked the others.

Morrigan spoke first. “Go after your enemy directly. Find Loghain and kill him. The rest of this business with the treaties can then be done in safety.”

Alistair made to object, but Sten shook his head and spoke first. “The witch speaks sense but for the fact that this man has soldiers at his disposal and we do not. You spoke rightly when you said that the dwarves have an army, Grey Warden. They are said to be an organized, disciplined society, unlike the wild elves or the mages. I would go to Orzammar.”

“But there are dozens of mages in the Circle,” Leliana put in. There was a certain urgency to her voice that Elissa could not help but note. “Magic is an army unto itself. And they are Fereldan, so it would not appear to Loghain and his allies that we are gathering foreign armies to challenge him.”

Elissa considered her companions’ advice, thinking hard about it. Finally she turned back to face them all. “I think Morrigan is right—in part,” she said.

Leliana looked alarmed, but the witch preened, smirking. Elissa ignored this; her opinion was not based on pleasing or displeasing anyone, but on her past experience and logic. “Not _altogether,_ mind. I don’t think we should _pick a fight_ with Loghain—at least, not in territory that he controls, which the Palace is. But I know him, a bit. I know Queen Anora better; we were companions occasionally as girls.” Alistair’s expression was rapidly turning into a hostile glower, and Leliana was looking panicked, but she continued undeterred. “Arl Howe murdered my family, and you _know_ he’s going to have some half-baked excuse for it that he is going to tell the Regent—”

Alistair finally interrupted. “But you are a Grey Warden now. We can’t get involved in noble politics.”

“Alistair, what exactly would you call going to Arl Eamon, if not _politics?”_

“But... but that’s different from the Grey Wardens getting involved in business between the Howes and the Couslands.”

“All right, then—what _about_ the Grey Wardens? We are accused of treason _as Wardens_. In Ferelden, we have the right to a trial or a fair hearing when we come quietly, and maybe we should stand on that right. We could go to the Palace, openly and honestly, and answer the charge.”

“You think Loghain will honor that?”

“I think Queen Anora will—and again, I _know_ both of them. There was a time once when I was wrongly accused after I’d been victimized by someone and Loghain actually interceded to get me out of it. I think I should go to Denerim and demand an audience. Alistair, Anora _knows_ me. She knows I’m not a liar or a scoundrel, and going there openly to answer the accusations is a point in our favor too. And we need access to the Warden Compound anyway.”

“Loghain will throw you in prison if you go there alone!”

“I didn’t say alone. I would get others to stand beside me. I know Arl Bryland, Arl Wulff, Bann Alfstanna....” She suppressed a sigh at the memories of her childhood friendship. “I would have other nobles protecting and vouching for me. What would he do, throw half the upper nobility into jail?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him,” Alistair muttered.

Elissa ignored that. “We are entitled to character witnesses at a hearing, and the Queen knows it. I agree with Morrigan, we need to confront him and do it as soon as possible.”

“But... he killed Duncan!”

“I mourn Duncan too—he saved my life, as you will recall—but he led the Grey Wardens in the vanguard. It’s the most dangerous spot in the army, and no reinforcements can save them if they are overwhelmed.”

“Loghain is a murderer. He abandoned the field.”

“We took too long to light the beacon, Alistair,” she said sadly. “I know we didn’t have a choice; it was overrun, but we were too slow. You said that yourself as we were fighting our way through, remember? The battle was already lost by the time we made it to the top.”

Alistair was glowering. “Well, I won’t have anything to do with Loghain unless it involves separating his head from his shoulders for what he’s done. If you go on this... suicide mission to the Palace, please leave the treaties with me, because otherwise there will be no allies against the Blight.”

“I truly think that we should go to the Circle of Magi first,” Leliana said, and Elissa could not help but notice a note of pleading in her voice. “You _are_ Grey Wardens first of all, and have a responsibility to gather allies. Having the Circle enlisted will give you credibility, too, the imprimatur of the Templars and to some extent the Chantry that the Blight is a critical threat to Ferelden and they are behind your battle against it. That is important.”

“Are we just going to let Arl Eamon _die?”_ Alistair cried. “He raised me.”

Elissa was on the verge of telling Alistair to shut up and follow orders, as he’d  _said_ he would do when he told her that he wanted her to lead. His attitude in this discussion was exasperating. He had known at the time that they were taking too long, as she had just said. By the time they lit the beacon, the field was lost. It seemed straightforward to her. She did not know why Loghain had accused them of treason afterward, and that was a different matter, but she could not truly fault him for his decision to retreat.  But to Alistair, this was about the loss of Duncan. It was an emotional point for him, on which he could not be wholly rational... and as she thought of that, she realized that  _she_ had not been wholly rational about Fergus or her lost family either. She had wanted to sidetrack the Grey Warden mission to obtain treaty-bound allies in favor of getting her own noble friends to settle a score, and she had even contemplated sitting in one place on the off chance that a band of Chasind would turn up with Fergus in tow. What right had she to snap at Alistair?

And with Duncan dead, Arl Eamon was his foster father. He would feel a debt of honor to help the man. At this, Elissa turned to Alistair. “We are not going to leave him to die. But the Circle is on Lake Calenhad too, just a few days from Redcliffe by boat. And Eamon  _is_ ill. We can’t help him ourselves.”

“But there are Healers in the Circle,” Leliana said. “I am certain of this.”

“That’s true,” Alistair said. “I just... don’t want to abandon him.”

“You have my sworn word, as a Grey Warden and a Cousland, that we will try to help Eamon immediately after we have been to the Circle.” She placed her right hand over her heart and bowed her head, the stance of one taking a solemn oath.

Leliana looked happy. “I’m glad,” she said, smiling. “I think it is the right choice. And once we have the support of the mages, Templars, Chantry, and Arl Eamon, then we can go to Denerim and enlist the allies of the Couslands. It will work out. I have faith.”

* * *

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Elissa said privately to Alistair once they were on their way. “I didn’t mean to make you think that I thought Eamon didn’t matter.”

He smiled sheepishly. “It’s all right. I just didn’t want you to endanger yourself, going into the snake pit of Denerim to take on Loghain.”

“We’re going to have to take him on eventually, and it really should be sooner rather than later, before he can consolidate power and his falsehoods about us can spread across the entirety of Ferelden.”

“But better to do it with lots of allies at our backs.”

Elissa still did not agree with that from a strategic standpoint, but their decision was made. She changed the subject. “I’d like to know why Queen Anora isn’t ruling. Why did Cailan not designate _her_ as the Regent?”

“Maybe Loghain usurped power from her too.”

“If Cailan’s will named her as the Regent until a Landsmeet chose a replacement, he _can’t._ And people would know about it if it’s in the King’s will. Anora herself would. Loghain couldn’t get away with that. Either Cailan’s will designated Loghain, or....” She trailed off. Surely the King of Ferelden _had_ left a will? It was unthinkable to imagine that he hadn’t. Even common freeholders had wills. What kind of irresponsible fool would he have been to not have documents stating who should rule the kingdom if he died? For that matter, why would he not name his queen? Had he and Anora been contending, perhaps over his infidelities? Could he have been... planning to put her aside for someone else? None of this made any sense.

Elissa enjoyed thinking about political intrigue, but she forced herself not to now. She did not know the answers, and it was pointless to speculate wildly.

“Well,” Alistair said, “whatever happened, I’m glad _we_ aren’t stepping into the middle of it just yet. I hate politics. And we’re Grey Wardens now. Kill darkspawn. Let others sort out political nonsense. That’s what I like.”

_Right, then,_ Elissa thought. She understood her duty as a Grey Warden, and it was a noble one, but she  _didn’t_ hate politics. She recalled poignantly how her father had said she had a quick mind, a knack for grasping political undercurrents and schemes. She saw Alistair’s point about enjoying combat; she was also good at that, but it was a rather pernicious myth that there were people who were good fighters and people who were good politicians and little overlap between the two. In her view, all that that idea did was breed resentment and contempt: soldiers and common-born knights sneering at “soft-headed lords who don’t know a sword from a kitchen knife,” and snooty nobles who looked down on fighters as “stupid meatheads.” It was something of an ideal to her, she knew, rather than a reality all the time, but she believed that  _true_ nobles should strive for both: good minds and courageous hearts.

There was something in Alistair’s past, she guessed, that made him seek refuge in a blade while eschewing “the snake pit.” She hoped that over the course of their campaign, she could figure out why he had this issue and help him to set it aside, but for now, she just wanted away from him. She might understand him, but he clearly did not understand her, and perhaps it was for the best for now. She did not want him to get the wrong idea about why she had come to talk. She wanted to be his friend, but that was all she could be.

* * *

She was not sure why she went to Leliana’s side instead, but she had taken comfort in talking to Leliana the night before, and she felt that they shared a bond. As it happened, Leliana agreed and was happy to see her.

“I am sorry for so quickly dismissing your wish to find your brother,” Leliana said as they walked together.

“It’s all right,” Elissa said. “It hurts to admit it, but you were right. You and all the others. I was being irrational.”

Leliana looked sympathetically at her. “Some would say that I am irrational to believe in my vision. But sometimes pure rationality is cold and inhumane.”

“But nevertheless the right thing to do,” Elissa said heavily. “A horde of darkspawn and an Archdemon are threatening my homeland. Even if the Grey Wardens elsewhere in Thedas would eventually stop this Blight, it would overrun Ferelden first—and that cannot happen. I can’t let my country down so long as I have a spark of life in me to fight for it. I... I can’t let the well-being of one person take priority, even my own brother. You were right, all of you.”

“Perhaps we were right, but this is what I meant by saying that being purely rational is a cold thing. You are focused on how it is the _right_ thing, but you are denying yourself the _humane_ thing. It may have been the right thing to focus on the Blight... but does that mean that _you, personally,_ were wrong to care about your brother?” She gazed fiercely at Elissa. “It is proper to think of the greater good and do one’s duty. But that is not all that matters. What _is_ that greater good? People. You are not fighting for an abstraction; you are fighting for people. You are fighting so that people can have families to love and live in peace. Your love for your brother matters.”

Elissa took that in. It was a little hard to wrap her mind around... but she could see Leliana’s point. “You’re very wise,” she said in a low voice.

Leliana laughed. “Oh, you flatter me now.”

“Is it flattery if it’s true?”

“Ah, an old standby riposte. I have certainly heard _that_ line before... though usually about my body, rather than my wisdom,” Leliana replied playfully.

_“Have_ you?” Elissa said, surprised. “But you were in the Chantry....”

“I was not born a Chantry sister, and I was a lay sister, not sworn to celibacy.” Thoughts of Caitlyn filled her mind, and she tried to push them away. _It is over, and in a few days, her true love will be on the way to meet her._

“No vows....” Elissa considered that before she realized, with a start, that she had flirted rather brazenly with another woman, without knowing for certain if she were capable of returning her advances, and now they were just talking freely around the subject as if nothing had happened. With all of her previous lovers, she had not taken that leap without being relatively confident that the other lady could be interested in women too. She hadn’t wanted to risk making anyone uncomfortable. With Leliana, it had been almost instinctive... and _did_ she have this same inclination? Or was she merely so non-judgmental and comfortable that it did not bother her anyway?

Unfortunately, overthinking it caused Elissa to lose her confidence. She subsided into silence, staring ahead as they continued north.

* * *

They made camp again in the Bannorn, near a farmhold. Elissa urged the farmer and his family to flee ahead of the darkspawn horde, because it was instantly apparent to her that not a single one of them knew how to fight. They would be slaughtered—or Tainted and made to fight for the other side. The word about the Grey Wardens being “traitors” had not yet reached this remote rural holding, so she was able to make camp near the barn.

She found herself inclined to continue where she and Leliana had left off earlier in the day, she realized. After all, it wasn’t as if she had no experience flirting with women—and quite a bit more than that. And if Leliana were only interested in men—or just not interested in Elissa personally—then Elissa was still confident that that non-judgmental nature would surface and they could still become friends, at least.

“I am afraid that I made you uncomfortable earlier today,” the redhead said as Elissa sat down next to her. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Elissa said, smiling. “Don’t apologize!”

“I was... forward. It was inappropriate.”

“If anything, I started it,” Elissa replied.

“No, I said you had flattered me when you had reflected seriously on a serious topic and then thanked me for my insights. I started it.”

Elissa threw her head back, suddenly laughing. “Maker’s breath.”

They both chuckled awkwardly before mutually realizing that there was no ignoring the topic. Elissa gazed seriously at Leliana. “I did wonder, though... what  _ did  _ you do before you became a Chantry sister? You have an Orlesian accent. Are you from Orlais?”

“Yes,” Leliana replied. “My mother was Fereldan; she served an Orlesian noblewoman who had held a title here during the Occupation, and she went to Orlais before I was born. I was born and raised in Orlais. But I consider myself Fereldan too.” _Now,_ she thought. Before, when she had been a bard with Marjolaine, it had been all that she could do to distance herself from her heritage. It was shameful to her now to think of such snobbery.

“Did you join the Chantry in Orlais and then go to Lothering?”

“No.” Leliana gazed ahead, staring at the sky. The stars twinkled overhead, a glittering blanket. Was it safe to trust Elissa with the truth? She focused on a single star in the constellation Satinalis, the Celebrant, a lute-player. If she strained her eyes, she supposed she could see the figure in the arrangement of stars. But the old symbolism, in ancient Tevinter, was that of a warrior holding the decapitated head of an enemy. That dichotomy seemed... suitable enough, she supposed unhappily. “In Orlais, I was....” She sighed. “You are a noblewoman. You must have heard the tales of minstrels in Orlais.”

Elissa’s eyes widened as she took in Leliana’s meaning. “Minstrels... or bards. Musicians, artists,  _ spies  _ who play games with nobles for politics.”

“The Great Game, yes.” Leliana looked sad.

“And that is what you were?”

“I was.” She sighed again. Elissa was not happy about this; that much was apparent. Caitlyn had not had a positive reaction to it either, and she supposed it was only to be expected that a noblewoman—especially one who had just lost her family to the blades of another noble—would have an even worse opinion. But better to have the truth out now, when she had just met Elissa, than for it to be a secret that would burst out later, she decided. “I am to fight beside you, so you have the right to know the truth. I played the Great Game myself.”

“But... you must have believed that you were doing good, that it was better for your country that the nobles _you_ worked for advanced in the Game,” Elissa said, a certain desperation evident in her words.

Leliana gave her a cynical look. “Do you truly think that?”

Elissa was startled, but only for a moment. In the next, it hit her. No, she did not. She just  _ wanted  _ to believe that. She shook her head.

“I took joy in it for its own sake,” Leliana said bitterly. “I sometimes did not even know who was paying me. And the Game can be so opaque that we may not be working for whom we think we are. A bard who knows too much is a risk too. And that... was my downfall.”

“I can’t believe that it could be like that here in Ferelden....”

“I do not think it is. The Great Game of Orlais is....” She trailed off.

“Orlesian?” Elissa offered, a smirk on her face.

Leliana laughed. “Yes! It is an Orlesian thing. Here, things are more straightforward and honest. Most bards do not spy on Ferelden; they influence Orlesian politics.” She sighed yet again. “And yet, what took me from that path was a matter in Ferelden. I found myself here, in the midst of a storm—in a manner of speaking. I took shelter from it in the Chantry, and when the storm passed, I just... did not want to leave.”

“Were you _afraid_ to leave?” Elissa said in a low voice. “Was that it?”

Leliana realized that Elissa was very disappointed and disheartened by this conversation, after the flirtatious moment earlier in the day and the comforting discussions about faith that they’d already shared. Elissa might fear that none of it was true, she realized with pain. “No,” she said feelingly. “I... had come to a precipice, a cliff, and had almost fallen—yet I was spared.”  _ Literally and metaphorically, _ she thought. “It was life-changing. I was different after that.”

“That can happen,” Elissa agreed, hope in her voice again.

“I like to think that the Maker saved me, that He brought me here.”

“Perhaps He did,” she said quietly. She gazed at Leliana. “I believe in repentance. I believe that sometimes something can happen that changes everything for a person. Did you know, Duncan recruited a thief to Join the Wardens? He didn’t... survive... but Duncan was willing to give him that chance. And you know what Sten did, of course.”

“I do. I confess... I am surprised that you recruited him. Pleased, since he does show a desire to atone, but surprised.”

“Since he murdered a whole family and I have just lost mine?” Elissa said bluntly. Leliana blanched, uncomfortable that Elissa had laid it out so baldly, but that _was_ exactly what she had been thinking. Elissa smiled darkly and continued. “We speak of repentance, but... it’s complicated. Justice must also be served. Arl Howe will face justice for what he has done. But... I spoke with Sten, and I don’t think he did it entirely deliberately.”

“You suggested back in Lothering that he might have lost his mind.”

“I... perhaps... but I’m not sure that was exactly it. Maybe, in a sense? A heated, irrational, blind panic and rage over something, and he lashed out at whoever was nearby. Their society is... basically alien to ours in how things are done... and I know enough of the Qun to know how rigid it is.”

“Yes,” Leliana agreed. “People accustomed to rigidity and strict rules may not cope well with sudden change. It is said to be why Tal-Vashoth, those who leave the Qun, are so dangerous.”

“It was still wrong, and he must atone for it. But it is _not_ the same as making a plan and stationing soldiers to carry it out. And he himself sees that it was wrong and seeks to atone.” _Unlike Arl Howe,_ she thought darkly.

“And you can give him that chance by letting him fight the Blight.”

Elissa smiled wryly. “There is that. We need all the help we can get, and that was indisputably a factor in my decision.” _And... yes... the fact that it was not_ my _family that he killed, and that I did not know them, not even their names. It is easier to be pragmatic when I don’t have a personal stake in it... as I realized with Alistair and my ease at dismissing Arl Eamon earlier as not useful to us when he’s ill. It really is important to be pragmatic right now, too, so it’s easy to justify. I just shouldn’t be a hypocrite about it. Or_ too _cold._

“I am glad that you are giving _me_ a chance, as well,” Leliana said, her voice soft and kind. “I _did_ work as a bard deliberately.”

“Well, you have been atoning already for... two years?”

“It is closer to two and a half now. I arrived at the Lothering chantry in Wintermarch Dragon 9:28.” _And merely a couple of weeks later, a redheaded apostate mage, babe in arms...._ She suppressed that thought; they were going to the Circle Tower and soon Caitlyn and her whole family would be on their way, safe and happy and, except for her deceased father, finally _complete._

“Well,” Elissa said, smiling at her, “I didn’t take you on so that you could atone for sins I didn’t even know about. I took you on because I wanted you here. And... I am glad that you are here.” She broke off awkwardly, as if she had meant to say something more, or express that sentiment differently.

Leliana smiled back, noting the awkwardness but not pressing it. “I am glad to be here too.”

“If you don’t mind... if you want to tell me... what happened? Did you ‘lose the Game’ in a way that threatened your life, and that made you rethink it?”

“Oh no, merely playing the Game threatens one’s life. What happened... I was betrayed.”

“Betrayed? No offense, but this doesn’t sound like a profession where trust and loyalty are factors,” Elissa said wryly.

“They are not... and I should have remembered that and not trusted... this person. But I was betrayed by someone I _had_ chosen to trust, a fellow bard.”

Elissa contemplated that. This was more than just a fellow bard, she realized with a flash of insight. Leliana probably  _ wouldn’t  _ have trusted just a fellow bard. This was intimately personal. “This person was special,” she guessed. “You cared for this bard and believed your feelings were returned.”

“I did... and she betrayed me.”

_ She, _ Elissa noted. Somehow that did not surprise her....

“When someone you have trusted betrays you, it reorients... everything.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” Elissa said quietly, closing her eyes for a moment.

Leliana realized that she was thinking about Arl Howe. The Couslands had done nothing to bring their fate upon themselves, so it was not the same, but it did relieve her a little that Elissa understood what it was like to have one’s views shaken so abruptly. Perhaps she would not judge her  _ so  _ harshly.

“And it was more than a personal betrayal,” she continued, her voice still quiet. “She was doing things that I had thought were off-limits even for the Game. Later, I came to realize that they were even worse than I had thought. But I realized then that I did believe there was such a thing as right and wrong, whatever I had told myself.”

Elissa considered that, nodding. Leliana lapsed into silence and allowed her to take it all in. It must be a great deal to take in. And as she did, something startling occurred to her.

_Why did I tell her that so soon?_ she thought. A pang of guilt tugged at her.  _I did tell Caitlyn about being a bard the first night we met, when I came to the Hawke cabin, but I didn’t tell her that I left it because of a lover’s betrayal until we had been together for several months. I have just broken up with her a couple of days ago and yet I am already confiding more to Elissa Cousland... and I have not told Elissa Cousland one word about Caitlyn herself...._

Leliana put aside her guilt.  _It is over,_ she thought.  _I am not her lover anymore and will not be again. I am meant to do something different for her, and Maker grant, the next person who holds her in a lover’s embrace, who kisses her, who shares the past, present, and future with her, will be her Anders. It is meant to be, and I knew it. That is why I took so long to open up to her. I should not feel any guilt about sharing my own past with Elissa. I will tell her about Caitlyn when I have... settled things for Caitlyn. I’ll tell her all about it happily when that day comes, soon._

Elissa, meanwhile, was thinking about what she had just heard. Leliana had been through a lot. Perhaps not as much as Elissa herself had... or perhaps not the same _kind_ of loss, but she had suffered and given up everything that she was. She had been betrayed by her own lover.

_A lover who was a woman._ Elissa did not want to focus too heavily on that, but it was unavoidable. They had discussed this freely, with no awkwardness about it at all. It was just as natural for Leliana as it was for Elissa. She then remembered, with a pang,  _her_ last lover—an elven woman, dying in a pool of blood on the floor.

_I spent the night with her, but now, she is just one more of the dead of Highever,_ she thought bitterly.  _So much death. I think more of my own family, but for however briefly, I was her lover. I should have...._ She sighed. She and Iona could never have been a true couple, she had realized. It was one night and probably always fated to be only one night, even if Howe had not betrayed them. All that she could do now was find Iona’s daughter in Denerim and somehow provide for her. But she would do that, she vowed again.

Her mind drifted back from oaths, honor, and duty.  _I have missed real companionship so very, very much—someone I can talk to as well as sleep with. I can talk to Leliana. I love talking to her. We have already shared so much and we’ve just met... and she likes women. And I’m a Warden now. No one would see her as my servant, but my comrade-in-arms._

_Give it time. Don’t rush her and don’t rush yourself,_ she urged herself. _Her companionship has already been a comfort, but make sure that you get to know her properly first and that you like her for herself, not just because you are mourning and traumatized—and yes, you are, Elissa, even if you can’t fall into a hole over it—and she makes you feel better in the midst of that. Do this right._

As each woman became lost in her own thoughts, they gazed ahead at the star-spattered sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading this story!
> 
> If you’ve read my other stories in this world-state, you already know exactly what I think of the Qun (and if you haven’t, you can probably surmise it from that comment alone), so I’m _really_ holding my tongue here when the ladies talk about Sten. (Like I’ve said, I am capable of respecting characters and not turning every story into a polemic about the same topics!) But that recruitment was something that needed to be addressed.
> 
> I really am going to lighten up on Alistair. Elissa has just not been in a good place, psychologically, and his specific flaws are not making it easier. She _needs_ to be loved and comforted, not to coddle and comfort someone else who hasn’t lost as much as she has. This dynamic—and that with all the other companions—will get better as _she_ gets better and she becomes able to see the good things about them instead of just the irritating things.
> 
> This was a very chatty chapter, but I enjoyed it. Chatty chapters are usually character and relationship development chapters, and I hope this worked as such. The next chapter is going to be the Circle, but I don’t intend to make it “questy.” The majority of the content should be character content. And after that, things are going to get moving.


	12. Dark Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. As you may have heard, my country held an election. :D And it occupied my headspace almost entirely until a few days ago.
> 
> I said this story wasn’t going to be about mages and Templars, and I hold to that, but because this is the Circle quest, and my stories for this world-state already established certain things about Elissa’s later (DAA/DA2) attitude to mages, I’ve ended up with a very mage-sympathetic narrative viewpoint in this chapter. Leliana is the main voice of it, and here, I’m saying she is much more forthright on the subject because of her AU past with the Hawkes. I don’t see it coming up again too much in future chapters, though.

It was dark when the boat gently bumped ashore at the northern end of Lake Calenhad. The moon hung over the sky, casting a pale glow across Ferelden, illuminating the silhouette of the Tower of Kinloch Hold—the fortress where the Fereldan Circle of Magi dwelt.

She gazed back at the boat as the rest of her team stepped off. The two who wore plate armor, Alistair and Sten, began to fasten it back on themselves now that the danger of capsizing and drowning was gone. Oscar barked and wagged his tail as he took his place by his mistress’s side. He tried to push her to look at the small structure on the lakeside, which appeared to be an inn. Elissa supposed it would be where they spent the night, before they went to the Circle the next day to recruit the mages.

She hoped that the original owner of the boat had not died for lack of it. It had been drifting along empty and unmoored in the far southeastern side of Lake Calenhad, carried in eddies. There were no markings indicating whose boat it had been, and it was destined for the bottom of the lake or the sharp edge of a rock if she had not taken it. Leliana had believed that it was a gift from the Maker, since it would take them to Kinloch much faster and more safely than walking. But Elissa was not accustomed to just helping herself to property that was not clearly hers, so it felt awkward, vaguely guilty.

She supposed that she would have to make do with the status quo until she set Regent Loghain right in Denerim. Then, she told herself hopefully, she would have official support and would not have to forage and scavenge.

The men finally finished putting on their armor. Elissa gazed at a Templar who was standing near the inn, nodded courteously, and approached.

As she walked up, she noticed more people who were... well,  _lurking,_ honestly. They were not Templars, nor did they appear to be bandits—but it was best to be wary. She drew her blades from her back and concealed them by her sides as she drew near. As she approached, she noticed that the leader of the small group appeared to be wearing a mage’s cowl.  _A Circle representative?_ she wondered. She went up to him.

“Are you Circle mages?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We are not. We are....” He gazed at her with interest, as if trying to come to a decision quickly. “Am I correct that you are a Grey Warden?”

Elissa gripped her blades warily. “Who are  _you?_ If you’re not mages of the Circle, why are you wearing mage cowls? Are you apostates?”  _And if you are, what in the Void are you doing so close to the Circle, with a Templar mere feet away from you, at that?_

The man smiled. “We don’t like that term, as it implies anarchy, crime, and lawlessness in the eyes of the public. No, Warden, while we are not members of the Circle, we have established an... _alternative_ organization for responsibly using magic and policing our own. I represent the Mages’ Collective.”

“The Mages’ Collective?” Morrigan murmured. “How... interesting. Yet you risk yourselves by standing so openly near that phallic tower where the tame mages are imprisoned.”

Elissa stifled a laugh. She had not wanted to voice the thought herself about the shape of the tower. She heard a muffled giggle nearby and realized that Leliana found it funny too.

The representative smirked. “Do you think we would operate so near that Templar”—he glanced at the lone sentry—“if we did not, ah,  _trust_ him?”

It clicked suddenly for Elissa. “You’ve bought him off.”

The mage shrugged. “We aren’t threatening him, though. I promise you, we are a peaceful organization that seeks only to control the abuse of magic, to police outlaw mages ourselves, to show that  _that”_ —he glanced at the tower—“is not required. We do not disagree with the Chant of Light. We don’t support criminality and have zero tolerance for blood magic. Our goals are the same as those of the Circle, but we hope to show that we can achieve these ends by better means. Would you be interested in working with us, Warden?”

Elissa grimaced. “I’ll... think about it. For now, though, my friends and I need to eat and rest.”

As she stepped aside and headed toward the inn, which was called The Spoiled Princess. Leliana approached her.

“Please do not turn them in,” the ex-bard said quietly.

Elissa thought she detected a flicker of anxiety in Leliana’s tone. “I’m not going to do that,” she assured her, “but I don’t know if I can work for them. Even if they aren’t blackmailing and threatening Templars, they’re bribing some of them. It’s corrupt. I wouldn’t want to work with a gang that was bribing guards....”

“A gang is criminal,” Leliana said. “Gangs thieve, rob, perhaps even rape and murder. This collective is more like alternate law enforcement for mages.”

“That’s what he _claims.”_ Something then occurred to Elissa as they entered the inn. “Do you know someone in the Collective?”

Leliana nodded, smiling faintly. “Well—I know someone with close ties to it. They are what that mage says they are, Elissa. Please do not turn them in.”

“I won’t, I promise,” she assured her again, “but I just don’t know if I want to be involved with corruption and bribery. And they _are_ evading Chantry law.”

“So is Morrigan....”

“Morrigan is Chasind. The Chantry basically leaves the Chasind, Avvar, and Dalish mages alone. I just....” She managed a chuckle. “I used to want to be a Templar. Years ago.”

“Oh?”

“I changed my mind when I saw them apprehending an escaped mage child who was trying to get to his mother. I couldn’t be a part of that, so I understand what you’re saying, Leliana, and I’m not going to be a tattletale. But I do think I’m going to stay neutral in this one.”

Leliana looked vaguely sad but clearly did not want to press the issue. She gave Elissa a faint smile as they clustered around the bar.

Elissa found that she was increasingly hungry since she had become a Grey Warden, and she noticed that Alistair also ordered a great deal of food—much of it cheese—and began to wolf it down at once. Shaking her head, she took a sip of ale and tucked in to her bowl of hearty stew.

There were only two other customers in the inn, a pair of dwarven traders. Perhaps they would be willing to make conversation. They had been a couple of days on the lake, and she was curious about what had happened since then.

“What’s your name?” she asked the elder dwarf once the grumbling in her stomach had subsided.

He was chatty enough. “Bodahn Feddic,” he said, nodding to her. “And this is my boy Sandal.”

“Enchantment!” the younger dwarf declared.

“He does enchantment,” Bodahn explained. “It’s the only word he knows. We’re merchants in these parts. Can I interest you in some items?”

“Maybe later. For now, what’s the news? Or... any rumors?”

“Well,” he began, “the big news, of course, is that Regent Loghain has accepted Arl Howe as his right-hand man—”

A stone sank down Elissa’s stomach at that, followed by a surge of outrage. “I’m sorry, _what?”_ she exclaimed. Beside her, Leliana moved closer, and on her other side, Alistair stopped eating, falling silent.

“That’s the word out of Denerim,” Bodahn said. “Loghain has granted him the arling of Denerim and teyrnir of Highever.”

“Arl Howe had the Cousland family killed!” Leliana exclaimed. Elissa gave her a brief look of gratitude, but it could not last long amid her anger.

“Howe claimed that the Couslands were Orlesian sympathizers, plotting with the Empress to claim the throne,” the innkeeper chimed in, overhearing the conversation. He seemed not to know who Elissa was, but that meant that she would hear every word of this, uncensored. The innkeeper shrugged. “Could be true. The girl is skulking about the countryside like a bandit, not defending her honor. Loghain probably thinks it looks like evidence of guilt.”

Leliana took Elissa’s hand under the bar, squeezing it, trying to comfort her and cool her temper so that she did not explode in fury and reveal herself to this innkeeper—who, it seemed, believed some of the lies.

Despite the blazing rage seeping up her body like magma rising in a volcano, Elissa also understood the need to keep her identity a secret. She picked up a heavy chunk of bread, sopping it in her stew, gazing at the bowl to avoid looking the innkeeper in the eye. She also tried to avoid looking at Alistair right now, because all that she could think of was the debate they’d had about what to do. _I knew it!_ she thought furiously. _I knew we should have gone to Denerim and talked to the Queen! I knew we should have been upfront and honest. Now we look like criminals hiding from the law, and Howe has sunk his poisoned claws into the Regent! I knew he was going to tell a filthy lie to justify himself, and he has!_

Mercifully, Leliana—with another squeeze to Elissa’s concealed hand—handled further questions. “Giving two arlings and a teyrnir to one man seems like a poor idea. Ferelden has never granted that much power to one person.”

“Well, what else could the Regent do? Highever Town is said to be completely lawless right now! Somebody had to deal with it.”

Elissa finally mustered enough self-control that she could ask a question. “Lawless how?” she bit off, ice in her words. The thought of Howe abusing and mistreating the good people of Highever, her family’s loyal subjects, sent an additional streak of rage through her.

“They’re constantly rebelling. Loyal as a dog to the Couslands.”

_Good,_ Elissa thought mutinously.  _All the more reason to find noble allies and get them to look for Fergus! That fucking murderer, that liar, Howe—I swear before the Maker, I will have his head someday for this—_

“The Arl’s daughter is missing, too, and the Arl thinks the villagers must’ve kidnapped her—and probably raped and murdered her too....”

This was too much. “That has to be a lie,” she burst out.

“Well, Maker willing, she’s all right. But that’s just what the Arl says.” The innkeeper gave Elissa a curious look. “From the Coastlands, are you?”

It was a decent enough excuse, she supposed. “Yes,” she said. “I am. I’m from that teyrnir, in fact.” Beside her, Leliana squeezed her hand again.

“Ah,” the innkeeper said, believing he understood. “Well... I admit, I’d find it hard to credit too if someone said such things about the Bann of West Hill. That’s who rules about these parts, you know. Well, other than the Tower, of course; that’s Chantry property. But... speaking of them... what makes me credit the official word is that the Chantry out there, in Highever, also thinks it’s lawless. Word is that the Revered Mother has urged the Highever rabble to settle down, stop rebelling, stop the violence. She also accepted the Howes when they showed up at the Highever Chantry. That tells me there’s probably something to all of it.”

This was a gut punch to Elissa. Her family had attended services in Highever Castle, in their private household chapel, rather than the village chantry. Mother Mallol was their personal priest rather than the Revered Mother of the town. But the good mother still answered to the Revered Mother of Highever, and Elissa certainly knew the superior priest.  _My parents gave the Chantry tithes ever since the end of the Rebellion!_ she thought, barely able to focus on the remains of her food and ale.  _They gave them probably thousands in gold over the years, and this is how they’re repaid in death! With betrayal!_

A low canine whine sounded from below, and she felt dog hair against her legs. Oscar whined again and looked up at her with big doggy eyes. Leliana was also giving her sympathetic looks—but right now, neither of them could get through the miasma of fury, hurt, and betrayal that she was feeling. She was alone, an island of rage.

She swallowed a chunk of bread, feeling it scrape down her gullet. “The Howe soldiers killed everyone in Highever Castle,” she said. “Did the Revered Mother at least insist on rites?” _Please,_ she prayed, _please at least let that have happened. Let my parents, Oriana, Oren, Iona, Mother Mallol, all our servants and guards have been given respectful pyres by priests of the Maker...._

“Howe’s taken over that castle,” said the innkeeper, “and he says traitors don’t deserve Andrastian rites.”

That was it. Elissa slammed her tankard down on the bar and turned aside. Her breaths were short and fast, and heat was creeping up her cheeks. She turned aside. “Excuse me. I need fresh air.” Without a word, without even looking back to see if her actions fomented suspicion of her true identity, she stormed through the nearly empty tavern.

The cool air hit her in the face, a welcome blast—but it was still not enough. Tears sprang to Elissa’s eyes and quickly trickled down her cheeks, tears of grief and blinding fury. _How could my country do this to my family?_

She heard footsteps—several pairs—and turned around to see Leliana and Alistair following her.  _I do not want to talk to them right now._ She was not sure that she could face Alistair at the present moment without slugging him in the face. Howe’s actions in Highever were not his fault, but Elissa thought it partly  _was_ his fault that Loghain and Anora apparently believed Howe’s account instead of the truth. Alistair, after all, had been the one who hadn’t wanted to go to Denerim to set the record straight. No, Elissa could not face him right now. Leliana would try to comfort her, but right now, Elissa didn’t want comfort either. She wanted to be alone with her fury.

Ahead of her, Lake Calenhad loomed. An idea entered her mind, and she did not think twice. In a second, she was stripping off her leathers, leaving only her tunic, breeches, and smallclothes. She strode forward, ignoring her companions’ calls, and waded into the lake.

It was cold, and she knew that she could not stay in it long. But for a brief time, she could put this out of her mind—she could swim in the chilly water, all thoughts forced out except the temperature of the lake and the stiffening effect it had on her arms and legs.  _Harder to swim... must push...._ Everything left her mind except the movement of her muscles, a blissful distraction from reality.

Elissa had swum a quarter mile out when she realized that she’d better get back. Much farther and she was not sure that she could make it back ashore.

She was shivering and half-purple when she returned to the shore. Alistair had gone back inside, but Oscar and Leliana were still there. As she got out, feeling the bite of the air against her wet skin, she realized that Leliana had never left, but had instead watched her the whole time, ready to jump into the lake and rescue her if the cold became too much.

“I’m sorry,” she said through chattering teeth. “That was stupid of me. But I had to get out of there. I had to think of something else, _anything_ else.”

Leliana gave her a sad look. “You cannot keep it inside forever.”

As Elissa headed back inside the tavern, she realized it was true. But she was not ready to face up to it.  _I just need to warm up and get a good night’s rest,_ she thought, trudging to the room she had taken.  _I’ll get the mages to honor their treaty tomorrow, pick up some Healers to treat Arl Eamon, and then we’re going to bloody well do something about this._

* * *

Elissa awakened the next morning from a restless night of dreams about darkspawn and the Archdemon. Something had changed in her dreams since she had taken the Joining, and it was not just that a majority of them were about the Blight. She felt much more lucid and aware in the Fade than she had been before. Was this what mages experienced? She had heard that mages were conscious and lucid in the Fade, unlike non-mages—that their dreams felt much like their waking state, rather than the hazy, strange, uncontrollable, and quickly forgotten Fade-wanderings that Elissa had always known before becoming a Warden. _Well,_ she thought, _the Blight is said to come from the Black City, in the Fade. I guess it’s a form of magic, but it doesn’t turn someone into a mage._

It wasn’t the lucidity and awareness that left Elissa exhausted, she realized. It was the content of her dreams—and the fact that she was not allowing herself to release her stress and anxiety. She knew it deep down. _But I cannot,_ she thought. _I cannot afford to lose myself in my emotions. I have to keep going. If I cannot carry out my duty, Alistair will be the only Grey Warden in Ferelden, and... I don’t think he can handle the burden alone. Everything depends on me._

As she got dressed, she felt rage building anyway. She tried to push away the memories of last night’s news, the fact that Howe had been given her family’s lands and title, that Loghain believed his lie about her family, and that Howe was oppressing Highever with the Chantry there apparently lying down and accepting his usurpation.

_We have work to do today,_ she told herself sternly as Morrigan and Leliana, who were sharing a bedroom with her, woke up and began to get ready.

Leliana gave her a look that suggested that she wanted to talk, but Elissa shook her head. The rage that had just then been bubbling up was now replaced once again with hollowness.

* * *

“I want two men stationed within sight of the doors at all times. Do not open the doors without my express consent. Is that clear?”

Elissa and her companions entered the lower level of the mages’ tower just as a heavily armored Templar, who she guessed was Knight-Commander Greagoir, gave this command to a subordinate. _This man would have been my commanding officer if I’d chosen this path,_ she thought idly.

“The doors are barred,” Alistair remarked in an undertone. “Are they keeping people out? Or _in?”_

Leliana looked deeply alarmed at this command. “Maker protect them,” she murmured under her breath, blue eyes wide with concern and dread.

“What’s going on here?” Elissa asked. “Are you Knight-Commander Greagoir?”

The Templar turned around, surprised. “I am. Who are you? Never mind,” he corrected himself at once. “It doesn’t matter. We are dealing with a very delicate situation. Whoever you are, you must leave, for your own safety.”

_I guess now we find out if Loghain and Howe have the Templars doing their bidding,_ Elissa thought direly. “Actually, I am here as a Grey Warden to call upon the mages to fulfill their obligations. We have a treaty with the Circle to support the fight against the Blight.”

Greagoir sighed. “I weary of the Grey Wardens’ ceaseless demands, but it is their right. Unfortunately, however, we cannot help you. The Templars can spare no one, and the mages are... indisposed.”

“Indisposed?” Leliana exclaimed. “What happened?”

“I will speak plainly. This tower is no longer under our control.” He sighed. “Abominations and demons stalk our halls.”

Elissa blinked, trying to clear her thoughts. “What?” she exclaimed. “It is the job of Templars to keep that sort of thing from occurring, to wipe out demons and abominations as they appear. How could it have gotten outside of your control— _and_ the control of the enchanters?”

“We do not know how it happened,” he said heavily. “We saw demons hunting mages and Templars alike. I realized we could not defeat them and told my men to flee.”

Anger churned in Elissa’s chest at this. “You told them to flee?” she said. “To abandon the mages you’re sworn to protect?”

Greagoir looked defensive. “We were taken by surprise. We were prepared for one or two abominations, not the horde that fell upon us.”

“You need a tower full of Templars to kill ‘one or two’ abominations?” Morrigan sneered in derision. “Pathetic.”

“Young woman—”

Elissa cut this off at once. “Well,” she snarled, “there is also a horde of darkspawn falling upon Ferelden, and the mages are obligated to assist! Where is the  First  Enchanter?”

“He is trapped in the Tower.”

“So there could be more living mages and Templars behind those doors.”

“The doors will not remain closed forever. Everything in the tower must be eliminated. I have sent a messenger to Denerim to request the Right of Annulment from the Grand Cleric.”

_“What?”_ Leliana burst out, horrified. “There could be innocents still trapped within! Mages and Templars who haven’t fallen to the demons!”

“I regret it, but it is the only way to be sure everything is safe.”

“No,” Elissa said, “it isn’t. You’re Templars. Identifying abominations is your _job._ And if there _are_ mages still alive, they can help you.”

“If there are mages in there still alive and free, the Maker Himself has shielded them.”

This seemed to give hope to Leliana, who had been looking wretched. “Yes,” she said quietly, as if to herself. “The Maker Himself could have... and after all, He sent a message to  _me....”_

Elissa decided she would ask Leliana about it later. “Look,” she said, “I need the mages to fight the Blight. I’ll help you. If there  _are_ survivors in there, I will have saved their lives—and if not, then the problem will be dealt with,” she said grimly. “But the longer we wait, the less likely it is that anyone can survive. I need to be let through those doors.”

“You don’t understand....”

“I _do_ understand. I’ve already fought monsters. Let us in. It’s the right thing to do, and you know it.”

The Templar scowled. “You have a brave heart, that I will grant. But I will not accept that the Tower is secure unless the First Enchanter himself tells me so. If he does, I will withdraw the request for Annulment. If you are determined on this, Maker turn His gaze upon you.” He motioned for the other Templars to open the doors.

* * *

“Wynne?” Elissa exclaimed.

The elderly mage whom she had met at Ostagar turned around, giving them a sharp glare. Around her, a group of children and adolescents clustered. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Grey Warden or no, if you harm these children, I will strike you down!”

Elissa drew back, shocked. “I’m not here to harm the children!” she said. “I’m not here to harm any innocents! I’m trying to _prevent_ harm!”

The mage gazed at her warily. “So... the Templars let you in, why, then?”

“The Circle owes the Grey Wardens service against the Blight. I told Greagoir that I would deal with the problem here and save as many innocents as I could. I’m not here to hurt anyone who is still free of demons, Wynne,” Elissa said persuasively. “The Templars sent for the Right of Annulment. We want to prevent that from happening.”

Wynne sighed. “It is as I feared. Greagoir assumes we are all lost. He locked us inside these walls. He does not trust even us. What hope is there?”

“We have to defeat the demons and find the First Enchanter. If he says it’s all clear, the Annulment will be called off. I have Greagoir’s word.”

“Then we have no time to lose,” she said briskly, turning to an older teenage mage and instructing her to care for the younger children.

“If I may,” Leliana said hesitantly, “how do you know Warden Cousland?”

“We met at Ostagar,” Wynne said.

“So... you have not been back in the Tower for many days?”

“No, I returned only a few days ago. The Circle was in chaos.”

“Then I don’t suppose you would know what became of any specific person....”

Elissa gave Leliana a curious look as the elderly mage shook her head in the negative. “Do you know someone in the Circle?” she asked Leliana.

“No,” Leliana said quietly as they accepted Wynne into the party and began to head into the bowels of the Tower. “But I know _of_ someone. A Healer. I had hoped....”

Wynne shook her head sadly. “I cannot answer for the well-being of anyone except those children. And I do not know whom you know or how you know... whoever it is... but if it is a Healer you need, I am one too.”

“Thank the Maker for that,” Alistair said. “Morrigan knows nothing about healing.”

Morrigan glared at him as Wynne turned around in interest. “You are an apostate?” she said.

“That is your word for me. Yet ’tis not _my_ home that is overrun with demons. Perhaps you should take heed, old schoolmarm.”

“Can we please, for once, not fight?” Leliana pleaded. Elissa gave her a grateful and surprised look. It was exactly what she herself thought.

“Oh, very well,” Morrigan sniped.

“Since I was at Ostagar, I am not the best person to answer for who is alive and who is dead,” Wynne said to Leliana, returning the discussion to its original topic, “so do not lose faith. Maker willing, we will find more survivors.”

“Maker willing,” murmured Leliana.

* * *

_I’m not sure how willing the Maker is,_ Elissa thought darkly a bit later.

It was unspeakably bad. They had put down monsters on the first two levels, and had found a few survivors, but it was clear that no more than a few dozen mages and Templars could have survived, and that might be optimistic. Behind the small corridor in which Wynne had warded the children, the Tower was filled with demons, abominations, and the mangled bodies of their victims—both mages and Templars, and a few that were so mutilated that it was impossible to identify which they had been or even if they were male or female.

“Maker turn Your gaze upon the innocent,” Leliana prayed, looking sick.

Elissa finally took her aside, away from the others. She was very upset, and it seemed to Elissa that it was much worse than merely being repulsed and horrified by the senseless carnage. That, they all felt—sans Morrigan, perhaps. For Leliana, this seemed personal.

“Are you all right?” Elissa asked quietly, then cursed herself. Of course she wasn’t. “I’m sorry. I didn’t.... That was stupid of me.” She sighed. “This person you are looking for, this mage. Have you _really_ never met him... or her? I won’t tell the Templars if you have and want to keep it secret. I swear.”

“I really have not met him,” Leliana said. She wiped her eyes. “I just heard of this Healer while in Lothering. An escapee from the Circle a few years ago. This....” She glanced around, where bloodstains marred the ugly carpet. “This is monstrous!”

“Yes, it is.”

“And not only the conditions that allowed this to happen!” she exclaimed. “Children are taken from their families, not even allowed to write to them—”

“What?” Elissa exclaimed. “They’re not even allowed to _write_ to their parents? How do you know that?”

“I knew a family with a couple of apostates... once,” Leliana said. Shame filled her at the way she was misleading Elissa, making her think that the acquaintance was long ago—and that it _was_ merely an acquaintance. But she could not speak of it openly. Not yet. Not while so much was uncertain.

Elissa shook her head. “That’s terrible. Why would  _that_ be necessary? What would it hurt to let children communicate with their families?”

Wynne spoke up hesitantly, overhearing. “It is considered best for mages of the Circle to have no outside attachments that could cloud their judgment and provide an opening for demons....”

“Having attachments is natural!” Leliana said. “Love is a gift of the Maker. Family is a gift of the Maker! It is _not_ natural to deny attachment.”

“Priests take vows of celibacy,” Wynne pointed out.

“Priests choose that,” Leliana countered. “Mages do not. And a priest can still communicate with her parents and siblings, can send letters and have friends outside her own chantry! Circle mages are denied even that!”

“It doesn’t seem right,” Elissa agreed. “We can all agree that mages should be trained, but this... I had no idea _these_ were the conditions. There aren’t even any windows that I have seen. Wynne... do the mages ever get to see the sun?”

“Occasionally, when we are allowed outside assignments,” she admitted. “There used to be swimming lessons for the youth... but that ended when one of the mages took the opportunity to try to escape.”

Leliana sighed, shaking her head. “We have to save everyone we can,” she said. “Maker protect them... Maker protect the innocent....”

Elissa wanted to comfort her, but she seemed lost in her own misery. As they finished resting and prepared to resume the fight, it felt to Elissa that Leliana was sealing herself into a shell of grief.  _Just as I have done,_ she thought wretchedly. But—once more, she told herself that there was nothing to do but press ahead with her duty.

* * *

_Yes,_ Elissa thought,  _my dreams are different now that I have become a Grey Warden._ She gazed upon the face of her enemy, the sloth demon that was responsible for much of the evil in the tower—not all, but most.

The demon had ambushed them in the tower, sending them all into an enchanted sleep, catapulting them into the Fade, but Elissa felt very much aware and conscious throughout the strange experience. Even more curiously, she had found that she could manipulate the Fade around her, even her own appearance and abilities. She had never been able to do that before Joining... but that, too, was an ability that mages were said to have natively. Indeed, one of the individuals who had taught her how to do it  _was_ a mage, a departed soul named Niall who had learned how to take the form of a large mouse while here.

The demon and its minions were ultimately stupid and unimaginative, though. For some reason, it had thought that Elissa would find it pleasing to be trapped in a Fade version of Weisshaupt—as if the only thing it had read in her thoughts was that she was a Grey Warden.  _If I had been trapped in Highever, with things pretending to be my family, that might have been different,_ she thought darkly.  _It certainly fooled Alistair. But the demon was stupid about me... or I was too hard a nut to crack._ As she prepared to fight, she wondered if, perhaps, her determination to submerge her grief had saved her from a demonic illusion that she could  _not_ have dispelled.

Now, with all her companions aware, prepared, and angry with this thing, she engaged the monstrosity in the fight.

* * *

When the sloth demon was defeated and the companions returned to the material reality of the Tower, Elissa slumped to the floor, cradling her head and heaving a sigh. There were precious few mages or Templars alive, and they were nearly at the top of the tower.

Leliana sat beside her on one side, and on the other, her faithful hound plopped down with a sympathetic whine. She felt slightly comforted by the warmth on both sides and resolved to muster her strength for her companions. Raising her head, she looked the bard in the eye. “I don’t suppose you have come across the person you are looking for.”

Leliana shook her head. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand how this could have happened....” _Maker, how could You have let this happen?_ she cried out in her thought. _You sent me a vision... so I believed. I thought that You wanted me to come here for Caitlyn and her son. We traveled as fast as we could. We could not have done any better. What was the point of any of it if this was what was occurring all along?_

“We still haven’t seen the First Enchanter,” Elissa said, unaware of Leliana’s spiritual doubt, believing her horror was only about the literal conditions that had led to this madness. “Perhaps... hopefully... he is still alive and can shed some light on it.”

“Yes,” Leliana said, getting to her feet, as Elissa followed suit. “There must be others who live. They must be trapped in the uppermost floor. I must not give up hope yet.”

* * *

The heart of the evil was in the topmost floor. A Templar named Cullen, who was trapped in a demonic ward, pleaded with the Wardens to spare nothing that lurked behind the door. When mages became possessed, he said, they did not always transform at once, but continued to appear human or elven until the demon within decided to take over. When that was the case, it was impossible to tell who was possessed and who wasn’t.

“We’ll provoke the demons to show their true faces, then,” Elissa had snarled, sick to death of this carnage, this ugliness and evil, sick of seeing mangled, bloodied, burned bodies everywhere. Whatever the Maker had willed for mages, it could not be this. “I will not slay innocents.”

“Then I hope your compassion does not kill us all,” Cullen had said as Morrigan and Wynne took down the wards and entered the room.

Waves of malignant arcane energy arced through the vast hall. There was the First Enchanter—though he was trapped by another mage.

“Uldred!” Wynne exclaimed at the maleficar.

The mage turned to her maliciously. “Wynne. How nice to see you made it this far.”

“Stand down,” she warned him, spells forming in her hand and at the tip of her staff. “You are beaten. Let the First Enchanter go at once.”

He laughed. “The First Enchanter! _I_ am the First Enchanter now! And I have become far more powerful than old Irving could ever hope to be.”

“You have made a deal with a demon,” Wynne accused.

“He has granted me great power,” Uldred said.

“You’re going down,” Elissa declared. “Your reign over this tower is at its end, abomination!” _How very ironic that I finally get to put down a powerful blood mage abomination—but as a Grey Warden, not a Templar._

The mage merely laughed—and with a blast, engaged them in battle.

It was strenuous and grueling, and they certainly would have lost several of their number if Wynne had not been among them now to use healing magic. She also had the Litany of Adralla, a spell against blood magic, which she cast every time Uldred attempted to force a demon subordinate to possess an innocent mage via blood magic.

_Forced possession!_ Elissa thought as Wynne interrupted one such attempt.  _I had no idea that was even possible! I thought possession was always voluntary, when a mage agreed to a demon’s deal! Now it turns out that the unwilling, mage or Templar alike, can be forced to become demon hosts!_

At last, however, they had put down all the demonic minions, then the mages supporting Uldred, and then, finally, the monster himself. Elissa withdrew her daggers from the abomination’s back, shaking her head in disgust—but with his death, a spiritual change seemed to fill the air. The Circle was finally free.

Such as it now was.

Alistair and Leliana were hurrying to First Enchanter Irving’s side to support the elderly man as he rose to his feet. Around him, the other survivors, mercifully free and unpossessed, got to their feet and cleared their heads.

Elissa hoped that Leliana’s mystery Healer was among them. If she had never met the man, she wouldn’t likely know herself unless she had a very good description of him. But first, it was time to take the survivors downstairs to talk to the Knight-Commander.

* * *

“I am surprised, Warden,” Greagoir said as they returned at last, “but pleased. You have saved the Circle... what is left of it... and you have my word that the surviving capable adult mages of the Circle will fulfill their obligations to fight the Blight.”

“Thank you,” Elissa said.

“If there is anything else you need,” Irving began to say.

“Actually, there is,” she said. “Wynne requests to join our party....”

“Permission granted.”

“Thank you,” she said. “But... we have word that Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe is gravely ill. Although Wynne’s expertise as a Healer will be invaluable, we would request all surviving Healers to come to the arl’s aid.”

It was Greagoir who spoke. “I have heard of Arl Eamon’s condition. Before the Circle fell to the demons, I offered Arlessa Isolde the aid of our best Healers. She has refused all magical aid, and the reports are that the arl’s illness does not respond to healing poultices and potions.”

“Refused all magical aid?” Alistair repeated. “Why?”

“The lady did not explain her reasons, Warden. But she will not have mages seeing her lord husband. I am sorry.”

Alistair looked disturbed and upset, and Elissa was exasperated. “We might be in a position to overrule the arlessa,” she said.

“Well, that is none of our affair. Wynne is an excellent Healer, one of the Circle’s best, and if you do force the arlessa’s hand but Wynne cannot cure the arl alone, I doubt extra mages would make a difference.”

Leliana approached Irving hesitantly and uneasily, as if dreading the answer she expected to get. As Leliana turned aside to address the man, Elissa caught a closer glimpse of her face. Was that guilt in her expression? It looked awfully like it to Elissa, and profound guilt at that... but why? Whatever had happened to the mage she sought, it was not her fault. Survivor’s guilt, perhaps?

The red-haired bard mustered her inner strength as she addressed the old mage. “Ser,” she began, “First Enchanter.”

Irving looked up curiously. “Did you need something else, young lady?”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “I....” She closed her eyes briefly. “I fear that I know the answer, after the evil we saw, but I must ask anyway, to be certain.” He was waiting, so she took a deep breath for strength before continuing. “I am a Chantry lay sister who served in Lothering until the Blight came. About three and a half years ago, an apostate, an escapee from the Circle, made it to town before being caught. He resided there for some time, which caused quite a stir after his capture.”

Irving looked deeply regretful, as if he knew exactly whom she meant and what had become of him. Leliana’s face fell, but she soldiered on. “I was told this mage was called Anders. When I decided to travel with the Wardens, I recalled the... incident. In Ferelden there are only the two Grey Wardens you have met tonight, and no mage Wardens now, and I thought that he might be a good candidate to join the Wardens as they rebuild, since he apparently did not want to be in the Circle.”

The Knight-Commander spoke up. “You knew Anders and you served at the _Chantry?”_ Deep suspicion filled his voice.

Leliana shook her head. “No, I never met him. I did not come to the town until Dragon 9:28 and yet I still heard of the event, it was so scandalous. I... merely thought to recruit a mage Warden.”

Irving finally replied, grief in his words. “Anders’ long escape to Lothering occurred in Dragon 9:27, so indeed this young woman is telling the truth that she could not have known him,” he said gently to the Templar. He turned back to her. “I am very sorry. We believe Enchanter Anders was the first victim of the blood mage coven.”

Leliana closed her eyes. After a moment, she raised her gaze again. Her blue eyes were wounded. “I feared it was the case,” she said quietly.

Elissa didn’t know what to make of this. Leliana had confided to her that she had not known this mage, so why did she look so personally heartsick? There were dead mages all over this tower, horribly slain. Was it just that it hurt more to put a name and a life story to a tragedy? “You said you  _believe_ this mage was the first victim,” she interjected at last to the First Enchanter. “What do you mean by that?”

“It was two days before the main wave of demons came,” Irving explained. “He went to the basement and a rage demon appeared on the steps minutes later. The first floor was in chaos. We put it down quickly and did a head count, but Anders was nowhere to be found, not even his body.” Irving rubbed his forehead mournfully. “It was not nearly as strong as the ones you faced. It didn’t kill anyone. He was a Harrowed Enchanter and capable of taking it alone if it were merely a demon. We think, now, that the demon was in fact an abomination, and that this was the first forced possession.”

Leliana looked utterly horrified, hanging her head again to avoid vomiting.

Wynne gaped at Irving before shaking her head in regret too. “I was at Ostagar when that happened, then. Such a waste,” she murmured. “He was a talented Healer too, not my apprentice, but I contributed to his training. Such a sad waste.  _All_ of this is a sad waste—of talent and life.”

“And all because of a maleficar,” Greagoir said gruffly. “Yes, young woman, I’m sorry to confirm that your Anders is presumed dead.”

“He was not _mine,”_ Leliana muttered.

“But you have Wynne, who is also a Healer and is frankly a more reliable companion than he would have been. I regret that he’s dead, don’t get me wrong. But if you really didn’t know him, better to move on. Wynne is a fine mage and you’re lucky to have her. And the Circle will uphold its sworn obligation to fight the Blight, thanks to you, Warden.”

* * *

It was a grim, dour group that finally left the accursed tower, heading back for the mainland. No one said a word to anyone else. When the Spoiled Princess Inn came in sight, Elissa suddenly remembered the night before—and the encounter with the Mages’ Collective representative. He was still around.

Elissa looked away from the representative, thinking hard.

_I grew up thinking that apostates were dangerous and should be taken to the Circle. Maker, I used to want to be a Templar. And yet...._ The horrifying images of the Circle filled her mind again, fresh and repulsive.  _If a handful of blood mages can do that, how can I blame mages for wanting to live as apostates? They were locked in the tower, easy prey, like fish in a barrel. And these mages have organized themselves, created this guild to police their own._

_The Circles as we know them only came to exist after the Nevarran Accords,_ she thought.  _Before that, mages self-governed in their Circles. That is why there is a treaty with the Grey Wardens and Circle of Magi at all, rather than with the Templar Order; this treaty predates the time when Templars ran the Circles. Andraste did not command this; it was done scores of years after her death in a political agreement._

She turned back to the Spoiled Princess, catching a glimpse through the windows of the dwarven traders, Bodahn and Sandal. At this, another memory jogged her mind: the news she had heard of how the Chantry in Highever Town had gone along with Howe’s usurpation of the teyrnir, and had not even gone to burn the Highever dead. It filled her with renewed wrath. _What do I owe them?_ Elissa thought furiously, the anger that she had kept pent-up for so long overtaking her.

A gentle touch on her arm jerked her out of this thought. She turned around to find herself facing a pretty pair of sapphire-blue eyes. “You are upset,” Leliana said quietly. “It is terrible, what we have seen.” She closed her eyes in a moment of prayer. “Is there anything I can do?”

Elissa looked back briefly at the Mages’ Collective representative, then faced Leliana again. “It is terrible,” she agreed, “but... I was thinking of other things that are also terrible.” Her visage became stormy. “I was remembering what we heard about how the Revered Mother of Highever sided with Howe.”

Leliana looked troubled. “I am sure that it was not quite like that.”

“It was,” Elissa said bitterly. “The Couslands— _my parents—_ supported the Chantry, gave gold to charity for years, and yet, as soon as that murdering traitor killed them and stole Highever for himself, the Revered Mother of Highever welcomed him!”

“Elissa....”

“She apparently hasn’t said a word to the Queen or Loghain in defense of my family—she has let that murdering filth call them traitors, her _patrons_ for _years,_ and not said a word to counter that!”

“Elissa.”

“No one from the Highever Chantry has even been there to give _funeral rites_ to my family or anyone in our household—including our household priest, Mother Mallol! Her fellow priests in the town haven’t even looked for one of their own or given _her_ proper rites!”

Leliana sighed, deciding to let her get it all out. She had told Elissa it needed to happen, after all.

“And Howe is saying the villagers of Highever must have raped and murdered Delilah and hidden her body. How in the _Void_ would he know that since he obviously doesn’t _have_ her body?” she stormed as it all came back to her. “He’s just making shit up to justify his brutality! Maybe she ran away—who knows? And the Revered Mother of Highever is telling _them_ to ‘stop the violence’?” She clenched her fists in fury. “Between _this_ and the appalling scene we just saw, I’ve decided. I am helping these apostates.”

Leliana considered her words carefully. Her friend had every reason to feel anger about what had happened. She herself was distraught about the carnage in the Tower—and the fact that she could not keep her promise to Caitlyn because her lover was one of the victims. She also approved of Elissa’s decision to help the Mages’ Collective, but she wanted her friend to do it for the right reasons, not as an act of spite or vengeance against the Chantry.

“I do not know what went through the Revered Mother’s mind,” Leliana said carefully, “nor do you. It is possible you are right. But it is also possible that she grieved your family and household but was unable to do anything, and deemed it better to take Howe’s tithe and put it to good use in the town—and if she _is_ trying to help the townsfolk, she _would_ want them to settle down and not be violent, not give Howe an excuse to crack down.”

“Maybe... but... there were priests who joined the rebellion,” Elissa said brokenly. “Rebellion against a usurper isn’t wrong.” Her eyes were hollow and empty, her voice wavering. “Andraste herself was a rebel. The priest could _support_ the villagers instead of telling them to be good little boys and girls and not make Howe angry.”

“She could,” Leliana admitted, seeing Elissa’s point, “but perhaps she said this because some of them _have_ harmed the innocent in their anger, or... perhaps she just wants to protect Highever’s people. Not all priests have the courage of Mother Ailis, traveling with Maric and the rebels. She may be trying to help your people in the only way she can.”

Elissa sighed heavily, her breath a rattle, but she did not dispute this point. Leliana continued, hoping that she was cooling her friend’s anger a bit. “For that matter, she may _have_ vouched for your parents to the Queen and Loghain, but they may have believed Howe instead. After taking Highever, he could have misrepresented letters from your lord father, or even forged documents with the Teyrn’s seal, to support his false claims.”

“She didn’t even send Templars to take their bodies away,” Elissa choked out, to her shame and embarrassment. “She isn’t helpless. She could have sent trained warriors to Highever to at least take their bodies away to be burned. That’s _always_ done. After a battle, priests go onto the field and... and give rites. They don’t judge what side anyone was on. They send them all to the Maker equally....” A tear dripped from her right eye.

“They _did_ go to the Maker, whatever happened to their bodies.” Leliana’s voice was unsteady as she spoke. She wanted to reassure Elissa, to help her get past this dark moment of anger—but it was hard for her, because right now, she was unsure of many things herself.

“I just feel that my family has been betrayed by everyone,” Elissa burst out. “Fellow nobles, the Crown, the Chantry that they supported their whole lives... the people of Ferelden who spoke so well of them just a month ago. People are no good. Consider what we just witnessed—a power-hungry blood mage destroying a Circle, in the middle of a Blight! Taking over his pathetic little fiefdom, as if _that’s_ what is most important right now. Most people are _scum,”_ she said with profound bitterness.

Leliana gazed at Elissa sadly. Elissa’s faith in the decency of people was broken, but her own faith in a caring Maker had been shaken badly, and she was not sure how well she was reassuring her friend. “If Howe sees it as an attack for Templars to force their way into Highever, her hands are still tied unless she fights him. But the Chantry is supposed to be neutral in disputes between nobles or nations.” She paused before adding, “It has not always _kept_ to that rule, of course.”

Elissa took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Well, I don’t feel that I owe them anything, after what we just saw. Whatever the Highever priest is thinking, the Grand Cleric of Ferelden has _no_ excuse. She was my parents’ friend too. She has time to consider the Right of Annulment, but no time to defend my family to Loghain! I am helping the Mages’ Collective. Whatever they are doing appears to work _just fine_ to control malevolent magic. I’ll work with them and conscript from them once I’m able to make new Wardens.”

_I am still reverting to my job as a Warden, doing what I must do, duty and necessity, rather than allowing myself to truly grieve. I can allow anger but not grief._ She shut down this thought as soon as it crossed her mind.  _Because this_ is  _what I must do. Fereldans depend on me. They don’t bloody deserve it... or at least, some of them don’t... but I will do it for those who are good people._

“I am glad that you are doing so.” Leliana trailed off, suddenly looking very sad, unable to finish.

Elissa touched her sleeve gently. “Are you all right?”

“No. Neither of us is all right.”

It was too true for debate. Tears filled Elissa’s eyes despite her resolve.

“I am so sorry,” Leliana choked out, about to cry as well. “I must retire to my tent, and _you_ should try to get some sleep too. We can talk more later, when we have mourned and slept and a new day has begun.”

* * *

Leliana sat on the low slope, gazing at the indifferent stars. One of them twinkled red, the color of her and Caitlyn Hawke’s hair.

_Was it something we—I—did wrong?_ she thought miserably.  _But... how? The blood mage coven took over the Circle merely days ago, and the first attack, on poor Anders, was just two days before that. I did not even have my vision, did not even meet Elissa and learn of her plans to go to the Circle, until that same time. We did not tarry. We could not have arrived here any sooner than we did. There was nothing more we could have done._

_I do not understand. Maker, if You had shown me the path earlier and I had ignored it, then the failure would have been my fault for not listening to You. But that is not what happened. We did not have extra time. Why did You send me that vision and give me that hope if there was nothing I could do anyway?_

She wiped away a tear from the corner from her eye as she thought of her erstwhile lover, Caitlyn’s fatherless child, and the apostate’s hurting heart that had never healed. _She loved him. She loved me too, and I loved her, but she loved him with all her heart. He never saw his son. Poor Mal will live without ever knowing his father... and not because of heroism or a noble sacrifice, but a pointless, awful death... and he was there at all because of human cruelty—cruelty done in Your Name, Maker._

She thought about Tug’s needless death in the Arl of Denerim’s dungeons, because she was too late to save him... and now, two years after learning that Caitlyn Hawke’s lover was alive, well, and not Tranquil—keeping the flame of hope alive for her friend and then lover—being too late to save _him._

Leliana gazed back at Elissa’s tent. _I thought that You sent the Wardens to me so that I could help Ferelden... that You placed them on this path to Kinloch Hold so that I could give Caitlyn and Mal what they needed... and I was beginning to think, to hope, that you sent Elissa, specifically, of all possible Grey Wardens, so that...._

She gazed at Elissa’s tent as the candle within went out. Elissa was going to bed. Leliana’s heart thumped as she thought of the beautiful young rogue bedding down under her blankets, herself healing Elissa’s broken heart, comforting her... but guilt flooded Leliana at once.

_Just a few days, Maker, and we could have arrived at Kinloch Hold in time to get the mages out of the tower before the blood mages took over and slaughtered them. It is not only Anders’ life; it is all of those who were lost. If You had given me that vision, if You had let the Wardens reach Lothering, just a few days earlier, this might not have happened._

_Why didn’t you let the Wardens recover sooner? Why didn’t You send me the vision earlier?_

_Or was it a vision at all? Was it just an ordinary dream? Was I wrong? Am I talking right now to One who doesn’t care? Have You turned Your back on all of us after all?_

_Or am I speaking to nothing?_

_Why?_

_Maker, why?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tagged “Crisis of Faith” for a reason, and this is just the beginning—for both Leliana and Elissa. A Blight is underway, and there’s plenty of cause for doubt and crisis when a plague is running rampant in your country, cutting people down without rhyme or reason. And yeah that’s turned out a lot more personal and topical than I thought it would when I first had the idea to write this fic. My _DA2_ fics are personal in a different way, to sort out my thoughts about compromise vs. “I want it all and I want it now,” and the use of extreme/authoritarian tactics when your opponents think that they can do whatever they please... but this one’s turned out personal too.
> 
> AU info for readers following only this fic: Anders is not dead. But there is a reason they think he is. Consider the canonical mini-quest “Watchguard of the Reaching” (tapping the statues and summoning the rage demon) and what the Circle authorities might think after the disappearance of a mage following the appearance of this demon and then the Circle itself going to hell two days later.


	13. Death At Nightfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading this story!
> 
> I should forewarn that most of this chapter is... well, a _deeply_ negative narrative point of view about Redcliffe. It isn’t negative all the way to the conclusion, but there’s a great deal of inner hostility from Elissa about this quest line.

_The city was burning, and the sky was red, brown, and grey with the smoke of charred buildings and charred bodies. What city it was, was unclear to Elissa. The strange, spindly, half-formed rock formations of the Fade rose side-by-side with buildings._

_She was in a courtyard atop a building, standing on injured legs, as she cut down darkspawn. With every step, her ankle screamed silently at her, but she had no choice but to go on. Oscar bounded beside her, lunging at a genlock and rending its throat before it could harm her. He barked cheerfully as the monster fell dead, Tainted blood on his jaw._

_“That’s a good boy. Assume any danger for your mistress, don’t you? By now, you must be a Grey Warden too.”_

_She had not said it. It was a man’s voice, but not Alistair’s. She looked around, trying to see the speaker, but instead only saw a silhouetted warrior bounding away to fight. She continued toward the center of the courtyard—when, at last, the dragon appeared from an obscuring, opaque haze of smoke._

_She had seen it before, in her dreams and in a dark place underground, but seeing it up close was a different matter. It was unlike any dragon she had ever seen, twisted, deformed, and half-rotting, yet terribly strong. It opened its great jaws to unleash a volley of fire—_

_But before it could, the howl of a wolf pierced the air, louder somehow than the chaos around them. The sound went straight to Elissa’s marrow, making her hair stand on end, her flesh erupt in goosebumps underneath her armor. It was bone-deep: the link of a direwolf and its ranger._

_Her dog and a beautiful, enormous wolf bounded toward the dragon first._

_But Faolin was dead, Elissa thought in the Fade... dead, gone, ash now...._

_Archdemon Urthemiel glared at her, eyes bright with malice—but also a strange form of helplessness. It had no choice. The Taint had long mastered its actions, and before that, its predatory bestial form and dragon’s brain had restricted its thoughts to those of burning, menace, power, worship, and bullying creatures it saw as lesser. What might it have been as a person?_

_Elissa shared the Taint and lived as a human noblewoman. That had shaped her and curtailed the list of acts that she considered morally possible. Did anyone ever really have a choice in who they were, what they did?_

_I think I do, she thought. And even if that belief is an illusion, it must be done. What does philosophy matter now?_

_A red-haired woman, beautiful, whose presence made her heart thump with longing, love, and regret, handed her a sword that burned with the fire of the sun itself. She took the blade and rushed for the dragon._

* * *

She tumbled from the Fade with the rising sun before she could complete the task.

The dream stuck with her all that morning. As she made breakfast, she kept thinking of it—the woman and the wolf in particular. _I could summon another direwolf,_ she thought. _If there are any hereabouts, I could call one. I am still a ranger._

She dismissed this idea. The idea of another such beautiful wild creature dying horribly was repulsive. She regretted, in a way, that she was exposing her dog to the danger, but mabari were war hounds, trained for this. Wolves were wild creatures, who had the instinct— _or the good sense,_ she thought darkly—to flee contaminated lands rather than fight the darkspawn horde.

“Are you all right?”

Elissa looked up from her fire at Leliana, who had emerged from her tent. _You were in my dream,_ Elissa thought. _You were in my dream and you meant so much to me_ —but she did not dare tell Leliana. Even to one who believed that the Maker sent her a dream, this would surely sound creepy and forward, would it not? It was just foolishness, Elissa told herself, just the strange subconscious musings of her mind taken form in the Fade. Besides, the former bard looked as if she had not slept well; dark circles were under her eyes.

“I’m better than I was last night,” Elissa said. “All right, though? I don’t know.” She gave her a sympathetic glance. “You slept ill.”

Leliana sighed. “The evil that we saw at the Tower troubled me greatly. I... think we should get moving again.”

Elissa murmured in agreement. “Want to share?” She tilted the pan of eggs that she was frying toward Leliana.

Leliana smiled. “Thank you, but I have eaten already.” She would not tell Elissa—though she was not sure why—but she had been up since the first light of dawn and had not slept a wink. She had paid a messenger to go as quickly as possible to Lothering and then to report to Redcliffe to tell her how the message recipient took the news.  _Poor Caitlyn,_ she thought.  _This will break her heart all over again, and she will hate me forever for being the bearer of this news. But I did promise her that I would tell her whatever I learned._

Elissa did not know what Leliana was thinking, however, or what she had done, and she merely smiled sadly and returned to her cooking.

* * *

They were almost ready to depart for Redcliffe—all except for one. Sten was studying some of the ancient, crumbling architecture in the area fixedly. It surprised Elissa; he had heretofore been very disciplined and punctual. She approached him to remind him of the time.

“I am aware that we must leave,” he said brusquely, “but before we do, there is something that I would like to do.”

“What would that be?”

“You know that I remained imprisoned in that weak cage by choice. You have surmised, I believe, that I punished myself thus because of the egregious lack of self-discipline and honor that led me to attack those who had been present when I discovered that my sword was lost.”

“You thought that they had stolen it?”

“No. I knew they had not. It was a disgraceful failure of mind on my part. But I knew, still, that I could not return to my homeland without this sword. I would be slain on sight. The weapon of a Qunari warrior is _asala,_ the soul.”

“This  _specific_ sword? You couldn’t just return with the one you have now?”

“That sword was forged for my hand alone. I cannot go home without it.”

Elissa tried to work out where he was going with this. The Qunari thought so differently from everyone else, and it was hard for her to comprehend at times—but they never rambled or digressed from their main point, so this was clearly related to Sten’s reason for wanting to remain in this location just a bit longer. “And you think the sword may be in this area?”

He nodded, approving her intuitive grasp of it. “This is near the area where my party was attacked by darkspawn.” He eyed a character rummaging around near a pair of crumbling pillars. “That scavenger may know something.”

Elissa glanced back at the camp. Alistair was scrambling to put out a fire; apparently he had burned his breakfast yet again. She shook her head in mild amusement—but this meant that they did have the time to talk to the scavenger. She led the warrior toward the crumbling columns.

* * *

“Well,” she said in a few minutes, “at least this Dwyn character is in Redcliffe, where we are going. Hopefully the sword is there.” The scavenger had told them, terrified of Sten, that the blade had been sold to a dwarf by that name, who lived in Redcliffe. Elissa hoped that the information was good and that this dwarf had not sold it himself.

Sten paused near the camp. It was clear to Elissa that his opinion of her was much improved from their first meeting, but that he was also seemingly confused about something.

She did not have to wait long to find out. “I do not understand. You look like a woman.”

“What’s not to understand?” Elissa said, baffled. She had not expected _that._ “I am a woman.”

“Yet you are a warrior. Women do not fight.”

Elissa eyed him, the sudden feeling of rapport gone. “This woman does. Is that something in the Qun?”

“Women are priests, artisans, shopkeepers, or farmers—but not soldiers.”

“Oh? What if a woman _wants_ to fight in combat? You don’t let her?”

“Such a person is not a woman.” He considered. “There are those who are born with the bodies of women but the souls of men. Aqun-Athlok is what we call them. In the Qun, they are allowed to fight.”

Elissa was becoming exasperated. “I have heard about people like that, but that’s not what I am. I am a woman who fights.”

“One of those things cannot be true.”

“Which one, that I fight, or that I am a woman? You have seen me fight, so I assume you mean the latter.” She glared at him. “We’re getting nowhere.”

“You are correct.” To her surprise, a ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

She carefully considered her next words. “Sten... the Qun promotes knowledge and discovery, does it not?”

“It does.”

“So ‘received knowledge’ is not static and can change with new facts.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.” She gazed pointedly at him. To her approval, he did appear to be contemplating her words.

* * *

With the addition of Wynne to the party, they would not all fit in the boat. Elissa hated parting with it, but it was no longer of use to them. She sold it to the Spoiled Princess’s owner and then headed back toward the road.

The disappointment of not having the boat, not having the gentle breeze and soft rocking of the waves to soothe their travels, turned Elissa’s mood sour—and determined. Her expression turned rigid as she stalked back onto the well-trod pathway, and as they set out, she began to walk so quickly that the rest of them—minus her dog—began to struggle to keep up.

If there was another reason for her shift in mood, she would not admit it. She pushed aside the ugly memories of dead, dismembered, burned mages and Templars, and buried the memories of the terrible news about Highever in the darkest recess of her mind.  _Redcliffe,_ she thought in hard resolve.  _Arl Eamon may be dead or beyond our ability to help, but he has a son and a brother. If he recovers, he can help us and I can get in contact with other nobles. If not, then Teagan will become the regent of... whatever the boy’s name is, I forget, and he will do it. One way or the other, things are about to change._

“Wait up!”

Elissa scowled at the sound of Alistair’s voice. He, of all companions, shouldn’t be lagging behind. He had been a Warden for six months and should be in good shape....

“In a hurry to get away from that place, I guess?” Alistair said, panting, as he caught up with her.

She refused to show emotion. “Frustrated that we only have one Healer to treat the arl,” she said evasively.

“I don’t understand why Arlessa Isolde would refuse mages,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s just... weird.” He paused, considering, before adding, “Are you sure this isn’t about what you heard at the inn, about Howe?”

She glowered. “What if it is? I knew we should have gone to Denerim to tell Loghain the truth before that snake got to him.”

“I still think he would have just had you thrown in Fort Drakon,” he said. “Listen. If it were just us, I’d be jogging along beside you, to get to Arl Eamon as fast as possible, but....” He glanced back.

Elissa halted as well, at last, turning her head. Wynne was surprisingly robust for her apparent age, but she was struggling to keep up, and Leliana—Elissa observed with a pang of guilt—was holding the mage by one arm to support her.

Guilt washed over her, and she paused, deciding to wait for them to catch up. “I’m sorry,” she said feelingly as Wynne reached her.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” the elderly woman said, spirit in her words despite her flagging strength. _“I_ am sorry for being dead weight.”

“You aren’t dead weight. Magic is different from physical power; it grows stronger with age—but I have been inconsiderate of _your_ age. I apologize.”

Leliana gaze Elissa a pointed look as they continued, now a unified group again. “You are still running. Your pain is going to explode in your face before long if you don’t take time to grieve,” she said quietly, too quietly for anyone else to overhear.

“No,” Elissa said, the word sounding listless even to her own ears. “I won’t let it. I can’t afford to. _We_ can’t afford—”

Her sentence was interrupted by the cry of an elf girl who appeared in their path as if by magic, pleading that her party was under attack, then running off as quickly as she had appeared.

The companions all exchanged the same look, a look of suspicion and cynicism. Elissa stifled a sigh; it was a shame that she immediately suspected a trap now, but something in her had been broken, and she could no longer automatically assume a favorable or even neutral motive about people. She drew her daggers and carefully concealed them as they headed up the road.

* * *

A little bit later, their party had added yet another member: an Antivan elf named Zevran, who had been hired as a Crow assassin to kill them.

“But I have no personal conflict with you,” he had assured them in a voice that was simultaneously suave and sincere. “It was this Rendon Howe and Teyrn Loghain who hired me. And the Crows do not tolerate failure. I would likely be killed now even if I _did_ take your life first—so why should I?”

Elissa was not sure about this just yet, but his associates—or underlings—were dead, and it would surely be much harder for him to fulfill his contract alone than with help. In any case, she couldn’t kill a person in cold blood who surrendered to her— _well, not some random person like this whom I don’t know,_ she thought. She was pretty sure she could easily lop off Rendon Howe’s head, or Vaughan Kendells’ for that matter, but not this stranger’s.

And if Zevran did keep to his word, and his newly-sworn loyalty oath to her—an oath about which she was admittedly suspicious, given how he had forsworn his last one—he would be another blade on their side. As she remembered saying in Lothering, they needed all the help they could get.

* * *

A bit farther south, Elissa realized that she was gritting her teeth so much that her jaw ached. Zevran had proven himself useful when they were ambushed by a rogue band of darkspawn, and Elissa wondered if she could copy his technique, but the man’s glib personality, as if everything were a hilarious and ironic joke to him, had begun to grate on her frayed nerves. How could someone whose very profession was death find so much humor in everything, death included—or perhaps death _especially?_ He spoke of the assassination of Antivan nobles with brutal irony and blasé lightness. It upset Elissa, the noble who had lost her family to such games.

It was made even worse by the fact that Leliana and Alistair were clearly enjoying the elf’s humor and company—and Alistair had been against keeping him alive. Morrigan cast herself as being above it all, but she too occasionally cracked a wry smile at some particularly dark joke that the assassin made.

_I am as dour as the Qunari soldier,_ she thought.  _And even a little more so than the elderly woman who probably sees this as her last great task—rightly or wrongly—and doesn’t want to think about anything but reflection and duty. Everyone else can enjoy humor and a new perspective in the party, but not me._

_I need to try to lighten up,_ Elissa thought suddenly, sadness overpowering her annoyance as she realized she hadn’t felt happy in... a very long time.  _It started before my family died. It started before the Blight. It started when... perhaps when Vaughan killed my wolf, or perhaps when Siobhan ended our relationship because I was a ranger. Nothing has been truly right in a long time. How long have I been privately miserable and have not even been able to admit it to myself, let alone come to terms with it?_

It was a disquieting thought to realize that she had been depressed on some level for at least five years.  _My parents were worried about me,_ she thought, the memory painful but somehow a little less so than it would have been a few weeks ago.  _They thought I was drifting aimlessly. I suppose they were right._ At this, her resolve stiffened.  _But I have a solemn duty now. I am drifting no longer. I am a Grey Warden and I’m going to save my country or die trying._

The thought nagged at her that she was, once again, resorting to this to hold off the internal reckoning and healing that she had long been denied... but she quickly brushed that thought away too.

“Hey,” Alistair said suddenly, speaking to her, “wasn’t your sister-in-law from Antiva?”

Elissa sighed. “She was.”

“Ah,” Zevran said, “the women of Antiva are very lovely indeed.”

In spite of everything, Elissa cracked a smile at that. “She was certainly very pretty. But she was attracted to my brother, not me.”

Zevran doubled back, actually surprised by this implication. “Ah, I believe I take your meaning correctly, my fair Warden.”

“Yes, I expect you do,” she said dryly, feeling a spark of happiness at the return of banter. Then something occurred to her, something that she was amazed she had not thought of before. Suddenly she was glad that Zevran _had_ been talking about the murderous nature of Antivan nobles. “Actually—since her family in Antiva is noble, wouldn’t they take out a contract with the Crows for Rendon Howe? Since he”—she swallowed a sudden lump—“murdered her and her son? Or do the Crows not accept contracts from both sides of a feud?”

“The only side that the Crows take is the side of gold,” Zevran assured her. “They would lose their professional respect if they aligned with any particular family. There have been many occasions of Crows killing on both sides of a noble feud.”

“Have you heard about a contract on Rendon Howe, then?”

He shook his head. “When I accepted the contract at which I fortunately failed, I had not heard of such a thing. But it may be that word had not reached your late sister-in-law’s family.”

“Would you tell us if you _had_ heard of it?” she said cynically.

“Of course!” he exclaimed. “I care nothing for this Howe... and, at this point, nothing for the Crows to keep their secrets either.”

Elissa supposed she should have been relieved, because that meant that she herself could still take the arl without professional competition. She didn’t know why she was instead disappointed.

Leliana had also noted the discussion and kept giving Elissa meaningful looks until at last she had broken away from Zevran and Alistair to talk to her quietly.

“You wanted the Crows to have a contract on Howe,” she said softly.

Elissa glanced at the sister. Sheepishness filled her face. “I did,” she admitted. “I don’t know why. I should want to kill him myself.”

Leliana gave her a compassionate look. “You know that your duty is first to defeat the Blight, and while you of course want Howe to face the Maker’s justice for his actions, you are aware that taking personal vengeance—”

“Justice.” Elissa was surprised at how broken her voice sounded.

Leliana did not dispute it. “You are aware that taking personal justice, then, is a distraction from that task. Yet it must be done. He must die.”

“He must,” Elissa agreed vehemently.

Leliana considered for another moment, gazing into Elissa’s grey-blue eyes. “You are not wrong. But killing him will not bring your family back.”

“I know,” she said heavily. “Nothing will.”

“Am I right that you also wanted there to be a contract on him because it meant that someone else, even just distant Antivan nobles, cared about what Howe did to your family?”

Tears sprang to Elissa’s eyes. “I... didn’t consciously think of that... but... you could be right.” Her voice became husky. “I think you  _are_ right. I just want  _someone_ to care. My country, the Crown, the senior leadership of the Chantry, so many of my fellow nobles.... We’re going to try to help the Arl of Redcliffe. But nobody seems to care about seeking justice for  _my_ noble family, or even setting the record straight about Howe’s lies... or looking for my brother. I  _do_ want someone else to care.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then Leliana spoke again. “I care.”

“I know,” Elissa said, her voice barely above a whisper.

* * *

They walked on for a few more days, finally approaching Redcliffe. As the town’s eponymous scenery came into view, Alistair jogged to the front of the group, where Elissa was walking, and gave her a significant look.

“I... have something to tell you,” he said hesitantly. “I should have told you earlier, I know, but... I didn’t want you to think of me based on—on what I’m about to tell you. I wanted you to get to know _me,_ the person. But... well, I can’t really avoid telling you about it now that we’re almost at Redcliffe.”

Elissa’s curiosity was piqued by this odd introduction. “Tell me what? Something about your upbringing at Redcliffe?”

“Well... sort of. The truth is....” He took a deep breath. “I’m a bastard. Well, I mean—I hope I’m not _that_ kind of bastard, if you know what I mean—”

She laughed. “No, I don’t think you’re a _right_ bastard. And I don’t judge you for your birth. You are a Grey Warden.” Alistair looked encouraged. “And anyway, we don’t choose our parents or the circumstances under which they conceive us.” She smiled. “You didn’t have to keep that a secret. What does it have to do with Redcliffe, though? Is Arl Eamon your father?” _That would account for why he was so determined to save the man’s life,_ she thought.

He shook his head vigorously. “Oh, Arl Eamon—no! He just fostered me.”

Gears clicked in Elissa’s mind. An arl would not foster the illegitimate child of just anyone. “Your father is another noble, then. Or your mother.”

“Well....” He scratched the back of his head. “Actually, my father was King Maric.”

Elissa stopped cold, gazing at her friend in contemplation. Yes, she could see the resemblance now. She had seen King Maric a few times, the final time being when Siobhan was knighted, and of course she had seen Cailan much more recently. Yes, Alistair did have that look—and he wasn’t the type given to making false boasts, anyway. If anything, he was overly diffident. And if it were a lie, someone in Eamon’s family would easily reveal it as such. No, this had to be true.

“Your father....” She broke off. “King Maric fostered you at _Redcliffe?_ Do you know, were you ever told why?”

“I was just told that my mother was a Redcliffe servant. She died giving birth to me, they said. I apparently have a half-sister out there somewhere, her daughter by someone else, but anyway, that’s why Redcliffe.”

“Hmm. All right.”

“Is something wrong?” he said anxiously.

“No,” she assured him, “I just thought it a little odd that Maric would have sent you to be fostered with the brother of his queen, especially since your mother did die in childbirth. I don’t suppose the arl took it out on you, though.”

“Well....” He trailed off, rubbing his head again.

Elissa instantly realized that the arl  _had_ perhaps taken it out on him—that, in any case, his treatment at Redcliffe was not ideal, not what a royal fosterling should have received. “Were you mistreated?” she said sharply.

He flushed. “I mean—I didn’t think so. I had to sleep in the stables—”

 _“What?_ You are the son of a king, and he made you sleep in the _stables?”_

“The _bastard_ son of a king,” he emphasized, his face curdling. “I was told that I had no claim, that my parentage didn’t matter. And it was great fun in the stables, really! I got to roll around in the mud. The arlessa didn’t like me, though,” he added dourly. “She thought I was Eamon’s. She wanted me sent to the Chantry to become a Templar. _That_ is what I didn’t like. Becoming a Grey Warden was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Leliana drew in, blue eyes glittering with interest, and Elissa realized that she had overheard the conversation. “I am sorry to have eavesdropped,” she apologized, “but I could not but overhear. A secret prince!” She beamed. “That sounds like something that should be in a song.”

“I’m no prince!” Alistair protested, turning pink. “I’m nobody. I’m just _me,_ just a Grey Warden. Let’s just... forget I said anything, all right?”

“Ferelden thinks the last Theirin is dead,” Leliana said as she stepped back. “Do you truly believe that Arl Eamon or his family will forget who you are?”

Alistair scowled. “I don’t want a crown on my head. I just want to be a Warden. I wasn’t brought up to rule anything.”

This reaction wasn’t surprising to Elissa, who had already noted even before they reached the Circle that Alistair did not want to put himself forward or do anything but fight. She barely paid attention to his words; instead, her mind was whirring with another, rather unsettling idea.

_Arl Eamon knows who Alistair is. Who else knows? Did Maric ever tell Cailan he had a half-brother? Did he ever tell Loghain, his best friend? And if Loghain and, perhaps, Anora do know... is that why we’re named traitors? He seems to think that we deliberately withheld information or delayed the signal... and he knows that Duncan sent Alistair and me on a “safe” errand._

_He may not be just cynically playing politics, blaming us for the king’s death to detract from his decision to retreat. He may actually believe that the Wardens conspired to get Cailan killed in order to put a Warden on the throne. The Wardens were banished two ages ago for trying to overthrow the king and replace him with one of their own. Loghain would know that. What in the Maker’s name can we do to dissuade him if this is what he fears?_

The idea was so disturbing that Elissa had not even realized that several minutes had elapsed as she stood in thought. Leliana had gone back to the main group, and Alistair was gazing at her even more bashfully than before.

“So I was wondering about something else,” he said, quietly enough this time that nobody could overhear. “It was about what Zevran said on the road.”

“What in particular?” Their new companion had been very chatty.

He cleared his throat and looked down at his boots. “When you said that your sister-in-law had been attracted to your brother, not you, and he said he believed he took your meaning.”

_Oh._ Elissa suddenly realized why Alistair was bringing that up. She had tried to be kinder to him of late, after nearly biting his head off a time or two early in their association. It was because they had to work together and because she genuinely thought she would like him as a friend, but she had hoped that he would not develop any misapprehensions about her intent. He struck her as very innocent in relationships. Anyone could fall for a companion that they liked, but someone who hadn’t seen much of the world might have a harder time determining if her signals meant friendship or something else.

She tried to be gentle. “I was bantering with him. I never tried to seduce my sister-in-law,” she laughed. “She was already married to my brother when I first met her! But... yes, I am attracted to other women.” She gazed seriously at him. “I hope I haven’t given you a...  _different_ impression. I want us to be friends, Alistair.  _Friends.”_

He looked sad and disappointed, but not surprised. The surprise, she realized, had likely come on the road with that brief banter with Zevran. He had had a few days to absorb it. “Well,” he said stoutly, clearly trying his best to buck up, “I’m glad to know the truth. We both know the truth now about each other! That’s good.” He managed a forced smile. “And... honestly, I suspect it disappointed Zevran even more.” He gave the elven assassin a half-scowl. “He was flirting with you. He’s flirted with everyone. I think he’s even trying to get into  _Wynne’s_ pants. Robes. Whatever.”

“He has certainly _bothered_ Wynne, but I wouldn’t call it flirtation.” She had noticed on the road that Zevran had begun to make vaguely salacious remarks to her, not quite over the line, but dancing on it. He seemed to want to have a joke at her expense, or “win” in the “conversation” by leaving her speechless. Wynne was clearly discomfited, and Elissa did not care for it. “Wynne is more than capable of handling him, and if it continues, I’ll tell her that she has my full permission to teach him a lesson. But... yes. It is good that we both know the truth.”

Alistair smiled gently, then turned away. “Well. On to Redcliffe it is.”

Elissa considered what she had just heard as she approached the village. An old anxiety was prickling inside her once again. _What if Leliana is right about Alistair? Eamon treated him shamefully, from the sounds of it, but he might still imagine that he could put Alistair to some use now that Cailan is dead. What if Eamon, or whoever, decides to try to make him into a king? I am a Cousland. If that’s what happens, it’s fairly obvious that they might also consider something involving me. But I will not let Eamon Guerrin or anyone else pressure me into a match that I do not want... especially after what I just told Alistair._

She tried to push the thought out of her mind. It was kind of exciting to be able to think about political games again, a throwback to the good old days when her father was being considered for the kingship and there was interest in restoring diplomatic relations with Orlais. It made her start to feel once more like she was truly _living,_ instead of just shambling through her days in a numb state. But there were also anxiety-inducing aspects to it. _One thing at a time,_ she told herself, gazing ahead at the bridge to Redcliffe.

* * *

Little did Elissa know that Leliana had also been feeling numb and depressed ever since the Circle. She had concealed it well enough on the road, talking and laughing with Zevran, and if she had been asked, she would have acknowledged that the assassin’s presence was a boon for her mood—but only a temporary, superficial one. His jesting ways were a distraction from the dark hole in her soul that had opened up because of the outcome at the Circle.

_I like Elissa, but she is hiding from her feelings about her family... she barely even allows herself anger... and I can never be more to her unless she comes to terms with that and then lets herself love again. I do not know how to help her... because I doubt too now._

_Was I wrong? It was like no dream I have had before or since. I was so sure that I was right about the Maker, that He still cared about the world, and that the priests who said otherwise were wrong. But I did wonder if I was doing right by Caitlyn, if I should have gone with her family to Kirkwall. I thought I was doing right when I learned that Elissa was going to the Circle. But was I?_

_Elissa is a leader. She is recruiting allies to fight the Blight. She has the surviving mages... she will have Arl Eamon’s family soon... and she can even turn people who tried to kill her into her allies. She has a king-in-waiting now. What am I adding to this campaign? Didn’t Caitlyn and Mal need me more?_

She sighed. It was not too late, she supposed. She could still head north and sail to Kirkwall. But that would mean abandoning her companions here, and while she did question her vision now, she did not  _disbelieve_ in it.

The problem was that she did not know  _what_ to believe. Before, she had had the certainty of a hopeful, optimistic heart that the Maker cared and had a plan for her, but now she just did not know.

_I made a decision,_ she told herself.  _I decided to fight the Blight. That is what the dream was about, the Blight, not love, romance, Elissa Cousland, Caitlyn Hawke, Anders, or any specific person. It was about the Blight. If the Maker did send it, that is obviously the message He wanted me to take from it. I will keep to my word and do what is right for my country._

But she still could not keep her eyes off Elissa Cousland’s shapely arms and legs as the group entered Redcliffe. And then, what seemed like another sign—though Leliana scolded herself for even thinking it now—occurred.

Elissa stopped on a hill and regarded a bunch of white flowers that were growing on the ground. Leliana’s heart skipped a beat. Could they be—? She drew closer. They were! They were Andraste’s Grace, her mother’s favorite, so very rare in Orlais. She hurried to Elissa’s side and looked down. She hated the idea of plucking young flowers... but these were not so young. A few had already dropped seeds. They would not remain in bloom much longer.

“You like these?” Elissa said, noticing her companion and smiling.

“I do,” Leliana said. “They were my mother’s favorite. I think of her whenever I smell them....”

“Oh,” Elissa said, her smile broadening. In this moment, she could forget about Alistair’s reveal and what it might portend. “Well, I thought about you when I saw them just because of their name, but if you think of your mother, that settles it.” She plucked the ones in bloom and handed them to Leliana.

Leliana blushed deeply as she threaded them into her hair, so she could always get a whiff of their fragrance. She would make a sachet of them when they dried. Her heart was thumping at what had just happened. Elissa had wanted her to have these even before she knew how much they meant. Surely this was just an act of friendship... wasn’t it? Or was it?

* * *

_I should have known that it wouldn’t be as simple as sending Wynne to heal the arl,_ Elissa thought. After discussion with Bann Teagan, the arl’s brother, it had become apparent that the problems went much deeper than a bedridden lord. The village had been under attack by the walking dead for several days.

“This is magical in nature,” Morrigan observed.

“Yes,” Wynne said. “When the dead walk, it is because demons—usually, but not always, minor ones—have come through the Veil to possess them.”

“Do you think Arl Eamon’s illness could be caused by a demon?” Elissa asked them bluntly.

“’Tis possible,” Morrigan shrugged. “Though if the woman does not want mages to assist with that, she is a fool.”

This was said in the Redcliffe Chantry in front of Bann Teagan. Elissa winced, giving the bann an apologetic glance.

“Arlessa Isolde has sent many of our knights in search of the Sacred Ashes of Andraste,” he said, ignoring Morrigan’s comment.

Elissa gaped at him. “She can’t possibly think they are  _real._ I mean... once, yes. Andraste was burned. But they have to be long lost now.”

“She believes that a Chantry scholar, Brother Genitivi, has proof to the contrary. Nobody can find Genitivi himself, but his assistant, Weylon, has come to Redcliffe. He is somewhere in this Chantry, in fact.”

“Well,” Elissa said, not caring to indulge what seemed like a desperate plan, “since nobody has _returned_ with any Sacred Ashes, let’s see if we can resolve the problem _here,_ in Redcliffe.”

“I have been trying to defend the village from the walking dead,” Teagan said. “The villagers are demoralized. The dead come out every night and kill whoever they can get to—and then that adds another ‘soldier’ to their side the next night. It is terrible. The village is being slowly annihilated.” He rubbed his head. “Anything you could do to help would be a blessing.”

When she turned to her companions to confer privately, she was not surprised that a few of them thought this a waste of time. If she had to be honest, she saw their point: Until they could deal with the root of the problem, the attacks would continue.

“But if we don’t defend the town, the dead will add to their army,” she pointed out, “and we will lose good soldiers who might otherwise be able to help us fight the darkspawn.” This argument proved persuasive—and with that, they headed out of the Chantry as a group to begin organizing the village.

* * *

Elissa stormed away from what seemed like the hundredth misogynist in Redcliffe, her heart pounding in anger, her blood up. She had never been here before—it was a poor, isolated fishing village, of no particular interest to her—and she knew now that she had not missed anything.

The mayor, Murdock, had expressed surprise—and not in a complimentary way—that the Grey Warden leader who would help them was female. He had been willing enough to work with her, and was grateful, but it had been wholly unnecessary for him to comment on her sex—unnecessary and bloody _rude._ _Can’t these backwater rubes at least keep their benighted opinions to themselves?_ Elissa thought angrily. _Even if they think these things, don’t they at least have the manners not to say them? Evidently not._

Then there was the dwarf Dwyn, a war veteran with a pair of hired thugs who served as bodyguards—and the current owner of Sten’s Qunari blade. He had yielded the sword with sufficient bullying... but, to Elissa’s derision, had refused to fight unless she  _bribed_ him, and had leered and made vile come-ons to her, Morrigan, and Leliana, to boot. She suspected that if there had been a female dwarf in their party, it would have gone rather beyond that.

The village blacksmith might not look down quite so much on women—though Elissa did have dark suspicions about why he had muttered “Takes all kinds” when she had said that she was a Grey Warden—but she found herself growing impatient with him for other reasons. He was apparently willing to let the village be slaughtered because his daughter was inside the arl’s castle and no one knew if she was alive or dead. Elissa regarded this selfishness with utter contempt.  _I lost my whole family,_ she thought angrily after agreeing to tell him whatever she could of his daughter once she was let into the castle.  _Except Fergus. I don’t know what happened to him. It’s the same as this man and his daughter, but it didn’t stop me from doing my damned duty. What is wrong with these people? I’m beginning to think Morrigan and the others were right about leaving this wretched place to its fate. How is this country ever going to defeat the Blight, which is the real threat to all of us?_

She stormed from the smithy, slamming the door behind her to dissipate the anger that was growing in her again, and began to head up the hillside to the village tavern. Apparently some soldiers were holed up inside.

* * *

_So now it’s soldiers who want free ale first_. This was getting more absurd and petty by the minute.  _What’s next, someone who won’t do their part unless I wipe their arse for them?_ If she had not seen that they were well-armored, muscled, and had good weapons, she would have decided to leave them to their pathetic sorrows. But they  _did_ appear to be decent soldiers—just, like so many others here, selfish and demoralized.

A woman brushed by Elissa, who turned her head inadvertently. She eyed the woman with admiration; she was a redhead—though her hair was darker than Leliana’s—and quite pretty. She was carrying a pair of foaming flagons. “Do you work here?” she asked.

“Yes, my name is Bella. Can I help you?”

“Let’s see....”

A few minutes later, Elissa’s rage had boiled over at last. The tavern owner, a man named Lloyd whose leering smirk she had noted upon walking in and had immediately disliked, had taken it much farther than leers with his employee. He made it a habit of groping Bella, without her consent, and she had heavily implied that he would make it impossible for her to get another job if she complained about it.

Memories of Vaughan Kendells, rumors of him raping elf women, the still-raw flashback of him trying to force himself upon her—clearly thinking that he had a  _right_ to do as he pleased with women because he was a man—overcame Elissa. Her unresolved rage that Vaughan had gotten away with the attempt, had even killed her direwolf, and the simmering anger that she had been feeling towards this town were now focused and directed at this one individual. Bella had pleaded with her not to do anything, but she was too lost to anger.

She stormed up to the bar and pointed at Lloyd. “You,” she seethed. “Outside.  _Now.”_

The man doubled back, shocked. “What? How dare you? What authority do you have to tell me what to do?”

She drew her blades.  _“This_ is my authority,” she snarled. She pointed one of them at him. “Out.”

The patrons of the tavern were hooting, and her companions were variously horrified, shocked, and—in the case of Morrigan—wickedly delighted.

“Draw your weapon,” she ordered. Lloyd scowled but took out a blade of his own. She approached him, her daggers crossed in front of her face, glaring as she drew near.

“Is this about those layabouts who want drinks on the house?”

“No. I don’t give a damn about them. This is about you putting your filthy hands on your employee when she _doesn’t want it_ and paying her barely enough to feed herself, so she can’t save up enough to go somewhere else!” She lunged for him, blades out.

As she had expected, this fight was quick and decisive. Within a minute, he was on his knees, his arms cut, pleading mercy. “I yield!  _I yield!”_

She regarded him coldly. “Get out of town. You’d clearly be of no use in combat tonight.”

“My tavern—”

“Is Bella’s now. We’ll consider it back payment for all her lost wages and damages for your vile conduct.” She pointed a dagger at him again. “Leave.”

“But there are bandits and darkspawn on the road!”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before putting your paws where they aren’t wanted, then.”

He gave her a look of loathing, but he did not argue any further. As he scampered away, she sheathed her blades and turned back to her companions.

“Maker’s flaming breath!” Alistair exclaimed, eyes wide. “I knew you were getting angry about all this, but—wow!”

Elissa smiled weakly. It certainly felt good to do one thing right, to take out her rage on a deserving target, to bring justice to a woman who had been mistreated for so long—but the momentary satisfaction that she felt was quickly fading. Lloyd was not Vaughan Kendells, nor was he Rendon Howe. Bella was not a Cousland. And Redcliffe still would be under attack that night. Bella might not be the owner of the tavern for long if they didn’t succeed in battle.

_It is always something,_ she thought sadly as she returned to her group.  _I can’t enjoy anything for long anymore. There is so much to do, always...._

As she gazed from one companion to another, she realized that there was one missing. Where was Leliana? Surely this was not something Leliana would have disapproved of. A wave of guilt came over her. Had her rapid change of mood in Redcliffe turned Leliana away from her? Leliana was certainly a more forgiving, kindhearted soul, who, when given an insult, tried to persuade rather than to retaliate. Perhaps Leliana _was_ put off with her aggression and violence. The thought was rather upsetting to Elissa, she realized to her surprise. She did not want Leliana to think poorly of her....

Elissa hurried down the hill, looking from left to right—until she saw a flash of short red hair and heard a musical Orlesian voice. But that voice was distraught.

Elissa broke away from the rest of her companions and rushed to Leliana’s side. She looked devastated, eyes bloodshot and near tears. A man in courier’s clothing was stepping away.

“What’s wrong?” Elissa asked, her voice compassionate again.

It took Leliana a few moments to speak, and when she did, her voice was cracked. “I have just heard that the darkspawn have overrun Lothering.”

Without even thinking about it, Elissa wrapped her arms around Leliana, who instantly broke into sobs. She held Elissa in return, though her embrace was loose and fragile.

“We helped the caravan,” Elissa said soothingly, rubbing Leliana’s head, cradling it against her shoulder. Leliana smelled of flowers. “We prepared the villagers and got them out. It’s a shame, of course—a tragedy—but the village was almost certainly empty when the darkspawn reached it.”

“But what if it wasn’t?” Leliana whispered. _I told the Hawkes to wait for word from me,_ she thought. _Now the very messenger I sent has returned, saying that he could not enter the town because it was overrun. What if they didn’t leave? What if they waited for my message—too long?_

Elissa considered, hugging Leliana as the sister shook in her arms. “Do you think someone in particular did stay? Someone you know?”

Leliana swallowed hard, a choking sob. She trembled, then drew away enough to look Elissa in the eye. “I did know people there, of course. And... I do fear for my friends. I do not know who made it and who did not. It hurts not to know.”  _It hurts not to know,_ she thought, the words pounding in her mind like a bell’s toll.  _Was my dream just a dream—or a divine vision? Did I fail somehow, was there something more I could have done to reach the Circle sooner? Am I, right now, doing what I should be doing? Should I have gone to Kirkwall with Caitlyn instead? Is Caitlyn on her way to Kirkwall—or does she, do her little boy and her entire family, lie dead at the hands of darkspawn? Is the Maker in control of events—or just the evil of people and the Archdemon?_

_Did I get Cait and her family killed because of an arrogant self-delusion about the Maker speaking to me?_ Her heart twisted at that thought.

But she said none of this to Elissa, and Elissa did not ask for details. She held Leliana, unsure what to say for comfort—because there was no comfort she could provide. Maker, she had basically no faith in _people_ anymore, and nothing that she had encountered in Redcliffe had restored it. How could she comfort Leliana?

“They are in the Maker’s hands,” Elissa said, the words sounding rote to her. How did people _do_ it? How were some people able to say just the right thing?

“I hope they are,” Leliana said quietly, drawing away and standing upright again. She wiped her eyes. “I hope that _whatever_ befell them, they are.” _It hurts not to know._

Elissa gazed sympathetically at her, thinking about it. She had not known Leliana’s friends, of course, and it was clearly too painful right now for Leliana to talk about them, with their fates uncertain—but remembering Lothering and the help that they had given the villagers there made Elissa feel better. _I did not care for the Revered Mother,_ she thought, _and some of the villagers were also whiny and helpless—but there were others whom I’m glad we helped. There are others here in Redcliffe too. Not everyone here is horrible._ She thought about a brief visit to a small shack, where a little boy had been cowering in a wardrobe. His sister, who was in the Chantry, had been terrified for him, fearful that he was dead—but now they were reunited. Those children deserved a chance. Bella deserved a chance. The knights were honorable, decent people. Even the mayor, backward though he apparently was, did not deserve to die for that. _I probably found and dismissed the worst person in town,_ she thought. _The rest of them, so far as I know, deserve a chance. Let’s give them that._

The news about Lothering was hurting Leliana, with her uncertainty about her friends, but it had motivated Elissa to care about Redcliffe.

* * *

_The next morning._

It had been a grueling, challenging battle. They had defeated the walking dead with few casualties. This had cheered Leliana a little bit. But Elissa feared that it would be impossible to repeat the feat if there were more dead stashed somewhere. She feared that everyone in Redcliffe Castle was dead or dying now, since that was where the corpses seemed to be coming from. If there were still more bodies in the castle, this exercise would have to be repeated again, and it would have to be done with a handful fewer people and significantly fewer resources. A great barrel of oil that Elissa had ordered lit aflame was used up now. That had stopped a lot of the corpses, who didn’t know not to walk through it and burned like torches. They would not have that oil again if they had to fight tonight.

Elissa was beginning to see why the villagers had been so cynical, nihilistic, selfish, and demoralized. A victory was good, but over and over again, night after night—to what end? The source of the problem had to be rooted out.

When the dead had come out, emerging from the lake, Elissa had been utterly horrified, and she had faced darkspawn, demons, and abominations. But there was nothing quite so horrifying as seeing the stricken face of someone in Redcliffe who recognized a walking corpse that had not been skeletonized. She and her companions had mercifully put the things down whenever she had seen this, and there was a huge mass pyre now in the village square, but it was chilling. Ugly, dark thoughts had entered her mind.

_Howe refused to let my family, guests, and household be burned,_ she thought.  _The point of pyres is to keep demons from possessing corpses. What monstrous thing could happen because of Howe’s vile decision to desecrate their bodies?_

She pushed this line of thought from her mind at once. There was nothing to be gained from dwelling on it.  _We go to the castle now,_ she thought.  _The arl’s illness has to be related to this. We go to the castle and fix this, today. Not one more night of this. I would have been willing to force the issue and overrule the arlessa—if she is even still alive—about allowing mages to come, but we don’t have time for that now. It’s a multiple-day journey to Kinloch Hold and close to a fortnight before we could make the round-trip. The village could be wiped out if we did that. This ends before the sun sets today, no matter what it takes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots to say here.
> 
> There will be more to come about the events of Soldier’s Peak and the influence of this bit of history on certain political decisions. There are other things going on too, which will relate to the _Leliana’s Song_ DLC and... something else... but let’s just say for now that Elissa is very much on target.
> 
> I don’t ship Teagan with the young girl from the village, so that’s why I didn’t have anything happen concerning the sword.
> 
> IMO the game is way too easy on the sexual assaulter tavernkeeper. It is certainly something that would be much better cause to call for a duel than not giving drinks on the house to the soldiers.
> 
> I’ve truncated a couple of quests that require a degree of travel that is highly troublesome for a realistic story: Sten’s sword (I skipped the Frostbacks encounter) and both trips to Denerim to Genitivi’s house for the Sacred Ashes. If the Cult of Andraste could have agents lurking at the inn next to the Circle, they could have someone in Redcliffe, where all the knightly questers are coming from anyway. I’ve made that someone be “Weylon.”
> 
> Because I know this raised eyebrows: Sten’s adapted commentary is based on _DA:I_ canon concerning Iron Bull’s acceptance of Krem. The Qun apparently says that it is the _nature_ of men and women to do certain kinds of work and not others—but it is also a society that recognizes the existence of trans people and lets them do work “permitted” to their gender identity. Since the Qunari conflate being man or woman with wanting to do certain kinds of work, it stands to reason that they would think that someone who wanted to do something their presumed gender wasn’t allowed to do was Aqun-Athlok—whether that really was the case or not. That seems a legitimate interpretation of Sten’s comment that “one of those things can’t be true” regarding the Warden being a woman and a fighter. I'm hoping that _DA4_ deals harshly with sexism in the Qun and have high hopes that Maevaris Tilani, who could well be a companion, will have something to say about this.
> 
> I did not get quite as far in this chapter as I expected to, but that’s okay, because my outline of the next one was a little bit sparse in content. The next two chapters are pretty Elissa/Leliana-centric.


	14. Blood and Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I did not want to wait too long before writing Redcliffe, Part II, so here you go!
> 
> Warning, there is a significant, protracted PTSD flashback in this chapter. I have tried to make it clear that Elissa is not in a healthy mental place....

After the town’s defenders and the Grey Warden party had met up with Teagan again, the arlessa had finally appeared. Elissa was amazed that she was alive—but her report of the goings-on in the castle was not good.

_Once we were actually able to extract it from her,_ she thought darkly. The arlessa had wanted Teagan to return to the castle alone, making the request in front of the entire party. Elissa was affronted. She had never been close with the Guerrin family, but she had seen Isolde at Landsmeets. —Five years ago, granted, but was she  _that_ forgettable? Or was Isolde just so self-absorbed that she paid no heed to other Fereldan nobles?

“Who is this _woman,_ Teagan?” she had said, her Orlesian accent haughty and discordant, unlike Leliana’s musical voice, which was made more beautiful by the accent.

It felt almost like a direct act of contempt not just for Elissa, but for Ferelden itself. Isolde had lived here for over ten years, but she had adopted none of the cadences of Fereldan speech. If anything, her voice’s harshness, to the point of affectation, made a point of  _emphasizing_ that she was not Fereldan, as if being Orlesian set her above everyone else. Leliana certainly did not speak like this. Her cadences in the same accent were natural, harmonic....

Elissa had cleared her thoughts as the arlessa grudgingly explained.  _Why was I thinking about Leliana’s voice?_ she had scolded herself.

What ultimately came out, amid the arlessa’s anguished exclamations and evasive remarks, was that the dead walked in the castle, just as Elissa had feared. Eamon was in a comatose sleep, and Connor—their young child—was “going mad.” The arlessa attributed the events to a mage who had been hired on as staff— _the family Healer?_ Elissa wondered—and said he had poisoned Eamon, supposedly at the behest of Loghain’s agent.

Elissa’s mind instantly went to Howe. True or not, she wanted to think her family’s murderer behind this. And if it were true, and the mage was not just lying... well, that, unfortunately, struck Elissa as further evidence that Loghain did know who Alistair was and feared a repeat of the attempted Grey Warden coup of two ages ago.  _There was a noble who was forced to Join the Wardens and became Warden-Commander... and other nobles who supported the coup. Anyway, if Loghain’s agent did send someone to poison Eamon, the noble who fostered Alistair, that is of a piece with my theory about what he fears._

She wondered about the mage until she and the others finally entered the castle, passing through a secret passage. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the dungeon cells, she noticed that one of the cells was occupied.

As Elissa stepped closer to the cell, the occupant squinted at her, a dark-haired, timid fellow. “You don’t look like one of the arlessa’s guards. Are you from outside the castle?”

He was clearly a mage, and she did not much care for being questioned in this manner when he was almost certainly the one who had done all this. “I’ll ask the questions,” she said coolly. “Are you the mage who poisoned the arl?”

He blanched. “Then they have told you. Yes,” he admitted, “I am.”

“So,” she drawled. Anger was entering her again that was not specifically directed at this man, and she knew it, but she could not stop the angry words from spilling from her lips. “You entered this household in a position of trust and then proceeded to abuse that trust and betray the family, leading to mass death? Is _that_ what you did?” The amount of personal venom in her voice surprised her a little, but she did not waver.

Leliana gave her an uneasy look and moved a little closer, placing a hand almost imperceptibly on Elissa’s upper back to try to cool her temper.

But rather unlike Howe, the mage answered her not with self-righteous defiance, but deep and sincere regret. “Yes,” he said. “I wish I had never done it. But it was what I was hired to do.”

“Ah,” Zevran chimed in, “this I understand. Not a personal feud, no?”

He shook his head. “I was hired. I was afraid to refuse. It was still wrong and I am not proud of it. I betrayed them.”

“This is a familiar story to more than one of us,” Leliana said, so quietly that only Elissa could hear. She realized that the bard’s words were intended only for her ears. “I detect truth in his voice. It would be best to listen to him.”

Elissa tried to still her outrage.  _I am angry about Howe and my own family,_ she told herself sternly,  _and that is why I feel this way. But this is not about them. This is about here and now._ She swallowed a heated, angry lump before speaking again. “Who are you, and what were you  _supposed_ to be doing here?”

“My name is Jowan, and I was hired by Lady Isolde to tutor her son.”

Leliana, Morrigan, and Zevran drew back in surprise immediately, and Elissa quickly worked it out too. “Are you implying that he is a mage?”

“He is,” Jowan said. “He had started to show signs. The arlessa was terrified that the Circle would take him away.”

Elissa recalled the Circle disaster and the disturbing living conditions for the mages even under the best of circumstances. Rare exposure to sunlight, no family visits, not even correspondence with the outside world allowed.... She did not have a favorable impression of Isolde, but how could she blame a mother for not wanting to lose her child?  _And if he had been at the Circle, he might have been killed,_ she thought.

She cleared her thoughts. A disaster of a similar kind had befallen Redcliffe anyway—though it was apparently caused by political machinations rather than an abomination and incompetent Templars. “Go on,” she said.

“She wanted an apostate to teach him to hide his magic. I escaped from the Circle under... bad conditions... and fell into Loghain’s hands. He told me that the arl was a danger to the nation, that I’d be doing my country a favor.”

_He does believe his own conspiracy theory,_ she thought again.  _He really thinks there was a Warden plot to overthrow Cailan. Cailan was Eamon’s nephew, though... so he probably thinks Eamon is just joining the supposed cause now, rather than being part of it from the start. Is there bad blood between him—or Anora—and Eamon? Why would he do this?_

But this was just political speculation, not relevant to the present. She set it aside—and then glowered as something else, something rather awful, suddenly occurred to her.  _“When_ did you escape the Circle?”

He considered. “I don’t really know how much time has passed since I was put in this cell, but it must have been two months since I escaped. I know King Cailan died in battle against the darkspawn, though.”

Elissa studied his face very carefully to see how he reacted to this next reveal. “The Circle has been practically destroyed,” she said bluntly. “A blood mage named Uldred became an abomination and took it over, forcing dozens of mages and Templars to become possessed. We dealt with the demons, but only a score or so of mages survived. It is an atrocity.”

She had not needed to look for signs of deceit. His guilelessness was all too clear as raw shock, horror, and grief spread over his face. “What? No! I can’t—I never liked the Circle—but that’s—” He was distraught, and there was no question in Elissa’s mind that he had _not_ been part of the cabal.

“I’m afraid it is true,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.

“Please,” he begged, “please let me help. I know this looks bad, but I swear before the Maker that I did not summon any demons here. I poisoned the arl—I admit that. But I did not unleash demons. I want to set this right. Since there are so few survivors of the Circle, especially....”

“Do you think that Connor might have done it? Accidentally, of course.”

“I thought of that too. He has little knowledge of magic, but he could have done something to tear open the Veil. That would allow demons to enter.”

“There are no other mages in the household who could have done it? No castle Healer?”

“None that I know of. The arlessa is... very pious. It is part of why she wanted her son to conceal his magic. She was ashamed of it.”

“Being a mage is nothing to be ashamed of,” Leliana said firmly, though her heart hurt at the words and the memories they invoked. _Oh Maker, beloved Maker, what have I done in my pride?_ She shoved this thought away before it broke her again. “The Maker created Lord Connor as he is, and you too.”

“I am glad that you feel that way,” Jowan said, “but... the arlessa wanted to hide it. Even from the arl. He doesn’t know.” He hung his head again. “I am such a fool. I didn’t summon the demons, but I feel responsible for this, and I would like to try to set it right.”

She considered her options. “I know how to pick locks. If, hypothetically, I were to let you out... you would come with me as we deal with the walking dead still in this castle?”

He blanched and drew back. “I don’t know that I would be of much use. I’m not a fighter. My skills lie... elsewhere.”

She folded her arms over her chest again and glared at him. “You’ll come with me or you’ll stay right where you are.”

He withdrew. “Then I will stay. But I’ll be here if I’m needed. Obviously.”

* * *

“Well,” Alistair remarked as they began to clear their way through the castle, “this explains why she didn’t want the Circle mages anywhere around here. Rather selfish, though.”

“The woman would have her household and village slain to prevent her son from being dealt with as the _Saarebas_ he is,” Sten growled, “and it would have meant her death and his as well in the end, when they were overwhelmed at last. ‘Selfish’ does not adequately describe this folly.”

“Yet it might have worked had she not happened to hire the one mage who was being blackmailed by Loghain and Howe,” Morrigan said. “It seems that if the boy called upon a demon, it was in response to his father’s poisoning.”

“She should have sent him to the Circle when she saw what he was!” Wynne said indignantly. “If Lord Connor survives this, that is doubtless where he will go anyway, but now he will have scores of deaths on his conscience!”

“The problem,” Leliana said harshly, “is that Lady Isolde had _cause_ to fear revealing him as a mage. She is a mother and he is her son! She did not want to lose her child for the rest of her life. They could not even have written! Perhaps she _should not_ have had to fear that!”

Wynne drew back, surprised at the vehemence in Leliana’s words. “One can... believe that, perhaps, some policies of the Circles are too harsh, without utterly defying the entire system, to such ruin as we have seen here.”

“But she could do nothing to _change_ those policies,” Leliana said, her voice softer now. “All that she could _do_ was attempt to protect her child. She made a grave error, it is true. But I do not think her motive was evil.” _I knew a mother whose child is likely a mage... but then, she is one herself. She would not need to resort to this... if... they yet live...._ She broke off this line of thought.

“Everyone else has stated an opinion,” Elissa said quietly to Zevran. “What do you think?”

The Antivan assassin chuckled darkly. “I think that it is a very typical course of events. Perhaps not the walking skeletons—though that _is_ rather typical in Nevarra, I hear—but the sincerest intentions, both good, as our Lady Isolde’s must be, and _bad,_ as are those of Howe and Loghain, nonetheless lead to an outcome that no one planned for. The _specifics_ are unplanned for, I should say, but that something would go wrong is quite typical. Look at me, after all. I serve you now.”

Elissa could not argue. Nothing seemed to work out as planned. The intent of a mother to help her child led to mass death, and the intent to murder led to a loyal ally joining her team. One abomination saved her life at Ishal, and another massacred most of a Circle. There was no justice or order in the world. _Leliana said that the Maker can use anything we do, but why doesn’t He, then? Why does He not always do good with people’s good intentions?_

 _I became a Grey Warden because my family was betrayed,_ she thought as she stalked through the corpse-infested castle. _What would I be now if Howe had not come to Highever that night? I would still be there, wondering if Fergus survived battle. Would we be aligned with Loghain or in rebellion? Would we have believed the lies about Alistair and... whoever would have been the other Grey Warden in my place, Ser Gilmore, perhaps? Surely not._

_Did I fail at Highever? I might have been able to sound the alarm if I had awakened in time. Mother was ready. Why wasn’t I? Sleeping off my brief little affair that was never going to amount to anything, that’s why._

She tried to avoid it, but once it had entered her mind, she could not keep thoughts of Highever out as she cut through the corpses that populated the rooms and corridors. Every room, every body that was being possessed for attack, brought back memories of carving her way through Howe’s men with her mother and her family retainers _._

When she opened a door and abruptly found an actual living person, she almost forgot where she was. This girl was human, but other than her ears, she looked so like Iona. _Maker, her hair is almost the same color!_

_I did not save Iona,_ she told herself as Valena— _that_ was the girl’s actual name, she thought firmly—hurried away to meet her father, the pitiful blacksmith.  _Iona is dead. This is Redcliffe, not Highever._

She did not like anything about this. Being in Redcliffe Village had set off her unresolved rage against Howe and Kendells, but being in a castle that was infiltrated and under attack was worse. The Tower of Ishal and Circle of Magi had not been proper castles, and darkspawn and demons were too different from human attackers to trigger memories of Highever. But these _were_ human and elven attackers—just dead ones.

The sounds of caged mabari hounds barking reminded her of being awakened that dark night by the growls of her own dog—who trotted beside her now, rending enemies whenever he could.

She rounded a corner to face a hallway full of shambling corpses, not reduced to skeletons yet, still horribly human-like. They bore the heraldry of Redcliffe, a towerhouse atop a red clay hill, but for one brief, strange moment, it seemed to Elissa that they carried the bear of Amaranthine.

_Howe’s men!_ Rage overtook her, and she lashed out with her deadly blades, carving through ensorcelled flesh, reducing them to a state of permanent death. She blinked—and then, the heraldry was Redcliffe’s again.

Zevran’s dark comments returned unbidden to her mind.  _“An outcome that no one planned for.”_ Elissa certainly would not have wanted to be transported back to Highever in memory, but it had happened here at Redcliffe.

_It feels too similar to Highever. That woman... she really did look like Iona. If the Veil is torn, perhaps I am half in the Fade. Perhaps this isn’t completely real. Perhaps... perhaps I needed to relive this, and that is why it feels so strange to me. Perhaps I can change how it ends this time,_ she thought wildly.

She knew that this was ridiculous. She  _knew_ better. This was Redcliffe, and she was not in the Fade. She knew very well what the Fade was like. She was playing mental tricks on herself.

_I have been hiding from my grief,_ she thought.  _Leliana has told me so, and I know she is right. Perhaps this is a way to stop hiding from it, to face what happened and act it out. If I don’t, what am I? I am just an actor in Redcliffe’s tragedy—or Redcliffe’s salvation. My family once again is forgotten._

She shook her head as if to clear it.  _What is the matter with me? I should be tougher than this. What kind of soldier, what kind of Grey Warden am I to indulge spooky fantasies about “fixing” my family tragedy this way?_

“Are you all right?”

Elissa turned sharply, surprised that one of her companions had crept up on her without her awareness. It was Leliana. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Why?”

“You seem... distracted.”

“Oh.” She gestured about dismissively, trying to cast aside the strange flashback and mental fugue in which she had been ensconced. “It’s this. Going through a castle and killing things. It brings back bad memories.”

Leliana gave her a sympathetic, sad smile. “Should I walk beside you?”

This offer took Elissa by surprise. “It’s that bad, huh?”

Leliana chuckled. “You have been fighting marvelously, as always, but you have seemed off in your own world nonetheless.” She took her place beside Elissa, her bow and arrows at the ready, her sharp eyes scanning the corridors for movement. “I am not surprised that it brought back memories of Highever—for that is what it is, is it not?”

Elissa nodded. Maker, this woman understood her. It was almost scary.

“I thought so. And of course, your faithful dog is here!” Beside her, Oscar barked in agreement. “But I thought you might need my companionship too. He was there during _that_ night, I assume. But I was not.”

_She is worried about me,_ Elissa realized.  _I must have truly looked like some sort of... sleepwalker. Or lunatic. She thinks that her presence will keep me grounded in the present._ She gave Leliana a grateful smile. “It’s hard,” she confessed. “Every corridor, every room, reminds me of something that I saw that night. I don’t like this. I want it to end.”

“It will. It will not go on forever. We will destroy the walking dead and then the demon that caused this.”

_Maker, you really were worried about me._ “Thank you,” Elissa said feelingly. “This has truly unsettled me. I don’t know why. It is hardly the first time I have killed lots of monstrous enemies.”

“You said yourself why, that being in a castle and killing things is too much like that night at Highever.”

“I should grieve,” Elissa burst out, the words tumbling from her lips unconsciously. Where had that come from? For weeks, she had been telling herself that she could not afford to grieve....

“You should,” Leliana said. “But I think this might have dredged up the memories no matter what. The darkest, most traumatic events of our lives are always vivid. But we can create other memories that are vivid too.”

“But so far, they are only more memories of blood and combat.”

“You are a Grey Warden and I fight beside you. I have those too. But you have the power to make other kinds of memories as well.”

Elissa did not know what to say. It was hopeful. Her heart thumped with the possible implication of it—the implication of the beautiful woman in her dream, the flowers of Andraste’s Grace, the wonderful rapport they had shared before they had gone to the Circle or come here, before their journey together to fight the Blight was contaminated with such  _darkness._ It was hopeful. But Elissa was afraid to hope now.

* * *

Connor was in a bad state. They had finally found him outside his father’s bedroom. He was even able to converse briefly. But he was afraid of the “bad lady,” which was clearly the chief demon, and it had an unnatural hold on him.

“Is he an abomination?” Elissa whispered to the mages as they tramped back downstairs to confer with Teagan and Isolde.

Wynne looked sad. “It seems so.”

“Then he will have to die,” she said quietly. She sighed. The one thing they hadn’t had to do at the Circle was strike down a possessed child. Wynne herself had kept the mage children of Kinloch Hold safe. But it was apparently too late for this boy.

No one, not even Leliana, voiced disagreement—though Leliana also mourned the idea, that was clear to Elissa. She hoped that the grim task would not fall to her. There was a Templar in Redcliffe, she recalled. Let them summon  _him_ to do it.

* * *

Isolde’s shrieks of raw agony echoed through the walls of the castle as they reported what they had found.  _“No!”_ she screamed. “Not Connor! Please, if there is  _anything_ else that can be done to spare him! That mage,” she said suddenly, her tone changing. “This Jowan. Perhaps he knows something of the demon! Summon him!”

“My lady,” Wynne said even as Bann Teagan dispatched knights to the dungeons, “I understand that you want to hear every opinion, but what if he tells you the same?”

She shook her head in denial. “There must be something! My boy... he does not always speak with the demon’s voice. He is still Connor!”

In short order, Jowan was marched up from the cells to the great hall. He cowered before the arlessa, who glowered at him. “You are lucky to be alive, after what you have done, Jowan.”

He hung his head. “I am sorry, my lady. I know I deserve death for it.”

“What I want to know,” she said, “is if there is any hope for Connor, anything that you can do to save his life.”

The mage grimaced, but it was a grimace not of despair, but shame and fear. Elissa gazed sharply at him, instantly realizing that he did know something—but that that “something” was not particularly good.

“There is one thing,” he mumbled. “Lord Connor is not actually physically possessed by the demon. It has a strong hold on his mind, but it remains in the Fade, not his body.”

“So it could be killed in the Fade,” Elissa guessed. “We have experience with that. Just send one of the mages to sleep, right?” _Or a Warden, since we are apparently conscious in the Fade too._ But that might be a Warden secret.

“It’s... not that simple,” Jowan said. “Under normal circumstances—sleep—people don’t end up in the same area of the Fade unless they are pulled there deliberately, by magical power. The Fade is vast, and the mage would wander endlessly if the demon influencing Connor did not want to be found. But we can force it with a ritual. I use a ritual to send the mage into the Fade at the exact place where the demon is, the mage could kill it there, and Connor could live.” The arlessa’s face lit up with joy. “But... there is a catch.”

Elissa suddenly understood that the catch was very bad.

“I... am a blood mage,” Jowan confessed. To his credit, he stood tall and did not flinch from the words. “The ritual to send a mage into the Fade would require a great deal of lyrium and a great deal of magic... or it would require a lot of life energy. Blood. All of it, in fact,” he ended, almost in a whisper.

“So... someone must die,” Teagan said.

“Someone must die, and the mage would enter the Fade and destroy the demon, freeing Lord Connor. I... merely offer it as an option, as you commanded, my lady,” Jowan said to Isolde.

“Blood magic!” Alistair burst out. “How is this of any help? Two wrongs don’t make a right!”

“No,” Isolde broke in, her voice shaky but her face set. “If there is any chance to save Connor, I will take it. And I will be the sacrifice.”

Teagan exclaimed in shock. “Isolde, are you mad? Eamon would never allow this!”

“Eamon is not awake to say what he would do. We must act in his stead. As I see it, either someone kills my son to destroy that demon, or I give my life so that my son can live. To me, the choice is clear.”

Elissa was suddenly struck yet again with a memory of Highever—now, of her own mother, making the same decision.

_“You stand a better chance of escaping without me.”_

_“Your life is the most important thing right now.”_

In that moment, Elissa’s dislike of the lady was washed away with emotion—and terrible grief for the pain that a mother must feel at the thought of losing her child. She could not think of the haughty Arlessa of Redcliffe, above all lowly Fereldans, right now. Instead, she was looking at Isolde Guerrin, a mother who would lay down her life for her child—as Eleanor Cousland had.

Her companions were voicing their opinions of this idea, but Elissa was hardly paying any attention to them—until Alistair’s voice sounded over them all. “We need more lyrium and more mages, you say? We could go back to the Circle and get them. If... if they would do it,” he muttered, suddenly doubting.

“That is a thought,” Teagan remarked. “The Circle is about a day’s journey by boat on the lake.”

Elissa shook her head. She understood why Alistair was holding onto this hope, but she had given up the idea of leaving Redcliffe prematurely as soon as the sun had risen this morning. It was well and good to be hopeful, but false hope was a dangerous thing, which could explode in one’s face. She had long sworn off false hope. Better to face a dark reality and make a choice from the  _realistic_ options that were available, rather than grasping at unduly optimistic dreams. “We had a boat, and it took us longer than that. But even if it didn’t... that’s two days round-trip. The dead come out every night, and there could easily be more bodies under the lake. The demon itself could kill more people. And is there a boat here big enough to hold all the mages?”

Teagan grimaced. That was answer enough for Elissa. If she felt, now, that the outcome was inevitable—foreordained, perhaps, by the parallel events at Highever—she would not dare say so.  _I could not have changed the ending,_ she thought, remembering her odd fugue.  _It was always meant to end like this._

“What do you think, Jowan?” Alistair pleaded. “How many mages would we really need?”

“I... don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know how much ordinary magic and how much lyrium is the equivalent power of a life.”

“And... if there were not enough... what would happen?”

Jowan winced. “Bad things. It might kill the mage we tried to send. Or the mages casting the ritual. Magic is a delicate thing. I don’t know.” Alistair blanched and fell silent.

Elissa stepped forward, her heart heavy but resigned. Nothing she was hearing was giving her any hope that the idea was more than an optimistic gamble.  _That is what the world is like,_ she thought bitterly.  _There are no pure victories, no perfectly clean solutions. I drank darkspawn blood, ingesting the vilest poison in the world, because that is what Wardens must do to fight the Blight. We have to face reality with clear eyes._ “So we could lose our mage allies if this goes wrong. You are  _certain_ that this ritual would work if you did it your way?” she said to Jowan.

He nodded.

“Enough!” Isolde called out. She stood forth with surprising calmness. “It is clear what must be done. Too many have perished already; I would not ask more to risk their lives when a solution is at hand—not when this country faces a Blight. And Connor is an innocent boy. If someone must die, I should be that person. I am the one most to blame for this tragedy.”

“My lady—” Jowan protested.

“No. I tried to hide what my son is. It is my fault. Let me be the sacrifice.”

_“Let me be the last sacrifice.”_ The words of Andraste, as the Prophet submitted to execution, filled Elissa’s thoughts. As she gazed wearily at Isolde, once again the memory of her mother, proud, indomitable, fierce, and loyal to her family to the bitter end, poured into her heart. “Now?” she said, surprised at how weak and emotional her voice suddenly was. “You are ready to die?”

“If there is a chance to save Connor... I am. Tell him... when you have saved him... that I loved him, and I will see him, someday.” She bowed her head and began to pray silently to Andraste.

Leliana was staring at Elissa, her heart visibly breaking at this decision. Her pretty face was crumpled, her eyes wide and the corners of her mouth turned down in misery and dismay. She gazed at Elissa, eyes hollow with disappointment.

_ I couldn’t do otherwise,  _ Elissa thought wretchedly as she stared back.  _ We could not have killed Connor, and haring off to pursue a fantasy would have meant disaster. I just know it. We would have come back to a slaughtered, empty village. The demon would have taken physical possession of Connor. And if it didn’t, the ritual would not have worked. The mages would have died in the attempt. We would have lost our mage allies. The Blight would cover the whole country... just as it would have if I had disobeyed my own mother’s command. This is how the world works, Leliana; can’t you see it too? The person you wanted to recruit died for nothing. Can’t you see? The Maker has turned His gaze away from the world and there are no miracles. _

This torrent of bitter, dark, gut-wrenchingly sad thoughts did not overcome Elissa. Instead it seemed to steel her. As Isolde continued to pray, Jowan turned to Elissa, mournful and frightened of what he was doing—but also steeled, in his way. “Who will go into the Fade?” he said quietly. “I cannot do it if I cast the ritual.”

Between the two other mages, there was no choice. Wynne looked just as revolted as Alistair. Elissa pointed at Morrigan. The swamp witch scowled. “I notice that you do not  _ ask_. Very well, though. I will do as I am told.”

Jowan mustered his energy, and perhaps his nerve, and began to cast the ritual. A sinister glow of rings appeared around Isolde, who continued to pray with her eyes closed.

Then Jowan cast the life-stealing curse, and a rush of blood ripped from her body as she crumpled to the floor. Morrigan did too, in sleep rather than death, but Elissa could not look, could not  _ think,  _ of anyone but the noblewoman who now lay dead before her on the castle stones, covered in her own blood, dying so that her child could live.

_“Mother.”_

Elissa fell to her knees and covered her face as tears formed. She was vaguely aware that she had said it, but no one responded, or if they did, she did not hear. She could not focus on anything but the memory, the awful memory.

* * *

_Later._

When Elissa was herself again, she was wrapped in a fur. At some point, Leliana and Zevran had lifted her under her arms from where she was curled up on the floor. They had hauled her to a chair, and someone had given her the blanket.

She felt embarrassed and ashamed as she came back to herself.  _ What a humiliating thing for them to see, _ she thought. Her eyes were still hot with emotion.

Morrigan had already returned from her sleep, apparently vanquishing the demon with swift dispatch.  _ At least there is that. _ The knights had covered Isolde’s body and the servants were cleaning up the blood before Connor could see it. Wynne had left to see to him, and Elissa supposed that the kindhearted grandmotherly mage was the best sort of person to help him right now.

“Connor is free of the demon,” Bann Teagan said to her, his voice low and conflicted. “Isolde is dead, but the ritual worked. I... do not know what to think.”

“I’m sorry,” she said dully. “There were... no good choices.”

He nodded. “I know. But Isolde did not die in vain. The demonic evil is at an end... though my lord brother still will not awaken. Your Healer has already tried. Her magic was unable to restore him.”

“But... if the demon is not keeping him in his sleep....”

“The poison is what sent him into a coma. The demon supposedly kept him alive—yet it is dead and he still lives. If only just.” He rubbed his head. “I believe, and she and the blood mage agree, that his condition is now no mere common illness. The demon  _ is  _ dead—but the mages told me that when they are slain in the Fade, their essence returns to the Fade. It cannot usually reform into the same... entity... but it doesn’t cease to exist. So that is why my brother is yet alive—but we are left with no rational hope that he can recover.”

Elissa felt sick. All this misery, and the one thing they had hoped to achieve—restoring Eamon to health—looked impossible now.

“I have to act in my brother’s name and begin to rebuild the arling,” he said, “so I cannot spare any more men—but Isolde believed in the Sacred Ashes of Andraste, as you know. I... do not dare hope that they still exist... but if they do, that would be the only hope I can see for my brother now.”

_ There are no miracles, _ Elissa thought miserably, her wretched thoughts filling her memories again.

* * *

It was a grim party that settled into Redcliffe Castle to assist with the cleanup and, Elissa supposed, wait for the arl to die. The castle had a surplus of rooms now, with its servant population decimated, so everyone could have their own bedroom if they wanted.

Elissa was getting ready to go to bed that first night in the castle when she had a sudden hunger pang. Sighing, she got up and headed for the kitchens. She had nearly reached the larder when she ran into Alistair—who had an armful of cheese. So he was hungry too. Was there something about Wardens?

He was in no mood to talk about the facts of Warden life, however. He was angry. It was written in every line of his face. “Now that you’re recovered, we need to talk.”

She felt a flare-up of anger again, but tried to tamp it down.  _ He almost became a Templar, and he knew these people. Even if he disliked Isolde, she was always part of his life as a boy. I will try to rein it in, _ she vowed. “Then say it.”  _ That... was not such a good beginning, though, _ she winced.

He scowled. “You let Isolde sacrifice herself with blood magic! How could you?”

“She  _ chose _ to sacrifice herself. What was I supposed to do, kill Connor instead? He is a child and he didn’t even understand what he was doing!”

“We could have gone back to the Circle!” he exclaimed. “We could have gone to the Circle like I suggested! You didn’t even  _ consider  _ it! You didn’t... I don’t know, take time to think it over, or anything. You just dismissed it as soon as I said it, dismissed  _ me.” _

Elissa breathed heavily, trying to check her temper. “Look, Alistair, I’m not asking that you agree with every decision I make. But _you_ said that you didn’t want to lead, that you wanted me to, and that means that I make decisions. You are welcome to voice your opinion at the time, but I don’t appreciate being lectured like this after the choice is made and it cannot be undone.”

“I did voice my opinion! I suggested going to the Circle and bringing in more mages so that it could be done without blood magic.”

“And I considered that and said why I didn’t think we should! The dead were attacking _every night!_ And we didn’t know that the ritual would actually work without blood magic. What if we’d lost a Circle mage—or more than one? When Jowan said that was possible, you went silent.” Elissa could barely keep it in. “But now, you attack me like this after it’s done!”

Alistair glowered. “I just hope that this doesn’t cost us Arl Eamon’s support. We had a blood mage kill his wife. I owe him more than that.”

“You owe him nothing,” she exclaimed. _“Maric_ told him to raise you. And what did he do? He told you that you were nothing and made you sleep in straw. You didn’t mind—but you were a child who knew nothing else!”

“How can you say that?” he cried. “Are you saying you let his wife sacrifice herself to get back at him for how he treated me as a boy?”

“Of course not. Do you really think that of me? All I mean is, you can love him and still see when he did wrong by you!”

“I know,” he admitted. “But... blood magic. _How?”_

“Alistair—do you think I love blood magic?” Elissa exclaimed. “I hate it too! I hate that the choices we were faced with were to slay a child who _wasn’t_ actually possessed, just influenced; to let a blood mage kill his mother as she volunteered; or risk the entire village and the Circle—our Blight allies. But those _were_ our choices.” She rubbed her eyes. “I can second-guess too, you know. _I_ wanted to speak to the Queen as soon as possible. You refused to go along. I also couldn’t figure out why in the Void they would think the Wardens had been plotting to kill Cailan. I’ve got an idea _now,_ though! We might not be in this situation if you had told me who you _were_ sooner, and we had told them that the Wardens were not plotting to overthrow the king.”

“It’s a lie! We shouldn’t have to defend ourselves against a lie.”

Elissa threw up her hands in frustration. “Alistair—you are my friend... aren’t you? I hope you still are,” she said.

“Yes, we are friends... even when I’m angry with you. And you with me.”

“Good,” she said, forcing a weak smile. “So know that I am saying this as a friend. When we defend ourselves, sometimes it’s against a lie! We live in the world as it is, not as we want it to be!” Her voice cracked, but she made herself continue. “I’ve had that forced upon me, but you need to realize that too, about a great many things!”

His face crumpled. “You’re right,” he said, sighing heavily. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. Don’t... don’t mind me. I’m really sorry.”

She stood by, watching him. The atmosphere still seemed tense—but that dissipated after a few seconds, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “Alistair,” she said, “I value your opinion. Even if I have a different one.”

He shook his head. “No, you were right. I’m such an ass. You did what you had to, and I _should_ have told you about my father earlier. You’re right.”

“Everyone is wrong sometimes,” she insisted. “You also wanted to come to Redcliffe quickly, though—and because we did, we might have saved the town and the soldiers. We might have saved Connor and Bann Teagan because you wanted to come here quickly. I value your opinion. I won’t always agree... obviously... but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to hear what you think.”

He chuckled weakly. “Ahh... I shouldn’t get on your back about things. Let’s just stop here before I shove my foot into my mouth.” He considered the cheese in his arms. “Are you going to the kitchen?”

“I was,” she admitted. “I got hungry.”

“Yeah... about that. Becoming a Grey Warden... changes you.” He sighed. “It increases your appetite. And you’ve already had the dreams. There are... other things... too, but now isn’t the time. I’ll tell you, though. I promise.”

He hurried off, leaving Elissa alone in the kitchen. She wondered what else was lurking in her future—but this day had already been too long to think of it.

* * *

Elissa passed by Wynne on the way back to the bedroom. The mage stopped and regarded her with a curious look on her face.

“I won’t keep you,” she said, “but I did want to tell you. I was disappointed today. After what we saw at the Circle due to blood magic, I was shocked that you would choose it.”

“I hate blood magic too,” she said feelingly, “but I really did not think it would be safe to leave Redcliffe or attempt that ritual with the mages who are Warden allies.” _I can’t tell you how, when Isolde said she would die for her son, I was thinking of my own mother. I could not tell Alistair that either. I can’t talk about it._

“I know,” Wynne said, “and... while it is not something I would have done... it worked. Connor is free, and he does not seem to remember much of what happened. He will be a strong mage someday. Perhaps this is why _you,_ and not I, are the Grey Warden—you can do these difficult things.”

Elissa sighed. Wynne seemed to be hinting, like Leliana had once, that the Maker was in control of all this. She just couldn’t believe that now. He had turned His gaze from the world, and the darkness of the world proved it. “Thank you,” she said simply, turning away to head to bed.

“I heard what you said as Lady Isolde died.”

Elissa stopped and whirled around. “No one was supposed to. It was stupid. I was... weak.”

The mage regarded her thoughtfully. “I would agree that you have a solemn duty and cannot let anything become more important than that, not even grief for your family. I know. I have lost people too.”

“You cared for someone at the Circle? Someone who died in that disaster?”

Wynne shook her head. “Other people, long ago. What I mean is, you were not weak or stupid. You are in pain. It  _will_ burst out again if you do not face it, during a quiet time, when you can do so.”

* * *

Elissa was not entirely surprised when one more person was waiting for her in the corridor. Leliana’s bedroom was right next to her own, and Leliana herself was waiting at the door. She did not look angry or pietistic, though. She just looked sad.

“You need to talk about today?” Elissa said, her voice quiet.

“I would not keep you from your rest, but, if it is not too much trouble... then yes.”

“I can’t sleep,” Elissa admitted. “Not after everything I saw today.”

Leliana gazed sympathetically at her. “Then come to my room. We can talk there.”

The room was small—all of their rooms were—but it already seemed to contain Leliana’s essence. The flowers of Andraste’s Grace that Elissa had picked were out of Leliana’s hair, laid out on a table, and a stack of waxed parchment and heavy books sat nearby. The flowers were wilted, but Leliana was going to dry and press them. Their scent filled the small room.

Elissa sat down in a chair near the small hearth and gazed at the empty fireplace, not her companion, as Leliana moved another chair close to her.

“Are you all right?”

_That_ was not how Elissa had expected the talk to begin. She whipped up her head. “I’m fine,” she lied. “Are you still worried about me?”

“I am worried, yes. I am worried about your state of mind. When Isolde died....” She shook her head. “Why did you choose _that?”_

“I don’t _approve_ of it,” Elissa replied, ignoring Leliana’s reference to her breakdown and hoping it didn’t come up again, “but the other realistic choice was to kill Connor. You wouldn’t have had me do _that,_ would you?”

“No, but—think of what he will suffer now, the weight of the knowledge that the demon slaughtered dozens of villagers and that his own mother died for him. Perhaps it would have been better....”

Elissa shook her head. “He won’t be the only person who experiences grief, regret, and guilt in his life. That does not mean that someone feeling such things would be better off dead—or that it was my decision to make for him.”

Leliana sighed, seeing Elissa’s point. Maker knew she was right about  _that._

“It really seemed like the least bad, least risky choice,” Elissa continued, hoping to distract Leliana by listing her rational, pragmatic reasons. “The travel time to the Circle, the lack of a big enough boat, the risk to the village, the risk that the demon would fully possess Connor... the risk of losing the mages if Jowan misjudged the amount of power needed to do the ritual without a blood sacrifice.”

“I heard all of those reasons, and yet....” She looked troubled. “It surely could not be _that_ dangerous.”

“We don’t know that, though. We knew _nothing_ about this ritual other than what Jowan claimed, and it seemed likely that it was ‘meant’ to be performed with blood magic. A life sacrifice, _one,_ to send a mage into a specific place in the Fade. That is very precise. The ‘good’ version is not so precise. In any case, we knew nothing of it. We were taking him at his word.  And if anything went wrong, the ones who should have to pay the price were the two present who were most responsible, Jowan and Isolde, not an innocent little boy, and not innocent mages who had just survived the loss of most of their friends!” She stared at the ground to hide her tears, trying to force herself to sound tough.

“Elissa....” Leliana’s voice was compassionate.

“But even if it went off perfectly, we would’ve had several days of travel to and from the Circle. The dead would have attacked again. They attacked every night. There was still a demon and plenty of living people it could kill. We threw everything at them in battle. We had to do _something_ before nightfall.”

Leliana sighed. There was nothing she could say to argue with that.

“And on top of that, just speaking pragmatically and coldly, if the ritual did go wrong, we would have lost a set of allies against the Blight.”

Leliana hesitated. “Well... equally pragmatically... the Templars might have fought in place of the mages if the Circle had been Annulled,” she said.

Elissa smiled bitterly, shaking her head. “Do you think the Templars would have done that after I refused what they thought necessary and then got all the mages killed _myself,_ in a ritual to save someone in thrall to a demon, no less? A demon that was responsible for mass murder? The Knight-Commander was already looking askance at us because you asked about that poor mage who had been in Lothering.”

Leliana closed her eyes, very conflicted now. Blood magic was wrong; she had always been taught that, and it had made sense to her, unlike the common belief about mages as a whole. The atrocity at the Circle Tower was evidence enough of that. Sacrificial death magic was even worse. But Elissa was making some good points too.

“Perhaps you are right,” she whispered. “I do not know. I just know that we knew that if we did _not_ try Alistair’s suggestion, someone was definitely going to die, whereas there was a chance—how strong, we did not know, but a chance—that no one... else... would die if we brought the mages to Redcliffe. Perhaps the villagers could have defended themselves alone, without casualties this time. Perhaps the ritual would have worked. I... like to think that the Maker rewards faith....” She broke off, suddenly realizing that she was not sure of that any longer.

Elissa sighed heavily. She did not believe it at all now. The Maker had left His children to their own devices for their earthly lives. His Bride, Andraste, had sacrificed herself and was gone too. Parents—spiritual and mortal both—left, and their children were alone, all alone.

“I would _like_ to think that too, but I’m not willing to gamble other people’s innocent lives, perhaps against their will, for the sake of proving _my_ faith. Isolde was willing to sacrifice herself. Would those mages have been? They would have been forced to come, to perform the ritual, whether they wanted to or not. After so many of their own had demons _forced_ into their bodies, they would have been ordered to come here and endanger their lives to save a noble boy. The treaty _obligates_ them to fight the Blight, but this would have been a personal demand _I_ made.”

Leliana was not sure what to say. This was striking far too close to home for comfort. What right did people have to ask that others take on risks because of _their_ faith? _Have I not done that very thing?_ Leliana thought miserably. _And what came of it? I do not know, but I fear the worst._ She had truly believed that her dream was a vision from the Maker, and several events soon after she’d had it had seemed to support that belief. When she had left Caitlyn Hawke behind, she had believed that she would go to the Circle, get Anders out, and send him back to Caitlyn and their child. When she had first talked with Elissa and learned that they were going to the Circle, it had seemed like the Maker’s hand. She was even starting to believe that Elissa was part of the Maker’s plan for her, their budding relationship a comfort for each other and an instrument of good for other people whom they were empowered to help. Now, though.... The revelation that Caitlyn’s true love had died a horrible, senseless, unnecessary death, and the news about Lothering, had made Leliana question almost everything about her vision and her interpretations of it. She would stay and fight the Blight, certainly. That was her duty. But had she any _right_ to the love of Elissa Cousland if—perhaps—her arrogant certainty in her own faith had gotten her last lover, the only partner she’d ever had who was sincere, killed along with all of her family?

Leliana tried to get command of her thoughts and not fall into this wretched morass of uncertainty and sorrow. She had requested Elissa’s company because she was worried about Elissa. That had been true. After seeing Elissa crumple to her knees as Isolde died, calling out for her own mother—Leliana forced her thoughts back to that point, the main point. _Elissa managed to distract me,_ she thought, almost smiling ironically at the idea. _Me, a bard. Good for her—if she had not done it to continue to hide from her own grief._

“I think you are correct that we only have the right to risk ourselves,” she said—and then she gazed piercingly at Elissa. “And, given that—and given how Redcliffe was affecting your state of mind, both your fury directed at the town and your traumatic memories that were invoked when you had to fight your way through the castle—are you quite certain that Highever, that your own mother’s sacrifice, did not influence you?”

_Of course she won’t forget about it,_ Elissa thought.  _She is too smart and focused for that._ She suppressed a sigh and gazed at the bard. “I’m sure it  _did_ influence me, actually,” she said. “Wynne heard what I said. You did too, didn’t you?”

“I did, yes. You... you _were_ aware all along that it was Isolde, right?”

“Yes,” Elissa said heavily. “I didn’t forget where I was. But....” Suddenly a lump filled her throat, too fast and too hard for her to suppress, at last. She choked, and tears began to pour from her eyes. “I _saw_ my mother like that. When I... left the kitchen with Duncan, I saw her, and knew that it would be the last time I ever did—that she was going to die so that I could live. It was her choice. I... I didn’t question it. I _understood._ Horrible as it was, I understood, and I accepted her will rather than arguing and fighting with her and making her fear that _no one_ from the Cousland family would live.” Tears streamed down her face, and she choked out the words, ashamed of letting this happen in front of Leliana—but at the same time, there was a certain relief in it. And she would not have chosen anyone else to hear it.

Leliana rose from her chair and bent over next to Elissa’s, wrapping the other woman in a hug as she sobbed. After a minute, Elissa managed to wrap hers around Leliana loosely too, an inverse mirror of the scene in Redcliffe when Leliana was distraught about the fate of Lothering. Finally, as Elissa’s sobs began to subside, Leliana spoke again.

“Do not be ashamed of your feelings. They are not a weakness.”

“I can’t cry and mourn all the time in front of everyone.”

“No,” Leliana agreed, “you cannot... but you can show this side in front of me, when we are not fighting, not struggling to survive. You need to. As you have seen, suppressing and concealing them hurts you even more, and it does not hurt you in others’ perception of you; it hurts you _yourself_ in your heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elissa is a pretty lawful good character (which is actually rather unusual for me! I like edgy pragmatists and antiheroes, usually) and this decision is easily the least lawful good of canon decisions that she makes. Her monologue explains where she is coming from and why she did it.
> 
> I... _really_ don’t like the fact that there is no downside other than disapproval from some companions about going to the Circle. In every other “allies” quest, there is _something_ you sacrifice if you always do the “good” thing (you don’t get Templars/werewolves/Zathrian’s magic/golems for Denerim, and have to make do with less beefy forces). That’s not the case for Redcliffe, but it ought to be. If you leave Redcliffe, I think there really ought to be more attacks on the town while you are gone, and it also seems that if a spell that’s quite precise when cast with blood magic (one life) is cast without it, that should also have unpredictable consequences such as possible (not guaranteed) deaths of a couple of mages, thereby leaving you with fewer Redcliffe soldiers and possibly fewer mages for Denerim.
> 
> In any case, _Elissa_ has worried about these consequences-that-should-have-been, obviously.
> 
> This is turnaround point #1. There are more to come in the next two chapters, including a big one soon. Basically, I planned this out so that the two first quests they did would be extremely personally upsetting to each woman, putting them in a deep emotional hole. The rest shouldn’t be like this.


	15. The Betrayer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading! Again, I’ve made some significant changes to the lead-in of the Ashes quest, in order to eliminate travel and streamline things.

Elissa woke up the next morning still in Leliana’s bedroom. At her friend’s insistence and against her own protestations, she had taken Leliana’s bed, and Leliana herself had slept on the floor on a pile of furs, blankets, and her own bedroll that she had used while camping. Elissa had been too weary the night before to consider the possible implications of Leliana not sharing the bed, but as she blinked herself out of the Fade, it all came back to her.

_Did she want to be away from me? Does she know how I feel about her, when I allow myself to think of it, and wants to discourage it because she does not feel the same?_

_Or did she just do it because she wanted to avoid any awkward moments? Did she fear that I might try to curl up against her for comfort, and that she might let me, but that it would’ve been a bad idea while I was so upset and vulnerable from what happened yesterday?_

Elissa hoped that the true explanation was the latter. There was a reason she and Leliana kept gravitating to each other for comfort and support rather than any of their other companions. There was a reason why Leliana had shared some personal details of her past. And given that reason, it probably  _would_ have been a bad idea to risk something that neither of them might be ready for—or, at least, that neither could be  _certain_ the other was ready for, on such a grim, wretched night as the previous one. Better to wait and be certain than to leap too soon, in a moment of emotional trauma, and regret it later.

But the other possibility, that Leliana did not feel any interest in Elissa other than friendship, would not go away entirely. Elissa could not explain it, but she had a nagging sense that Leliana was still keeping something important from her. She had been upset at Kinloch Hold about the mage she had wanted to recruit, but she had also told Elissa that she had never met him, and Elissa saw no reason to disbelieve her. She had not concealed the fact that she had had a female lover in her fellow bard, nor that she had  _been_ a bard—and implicitly used sex as a weapon. There was no reason to lie about the mage having been a former partner, so Elissa believed her account. But Elissa still felt that there was something else, something Leliana wasn’t telling her.  _Perhaps it is about the destruction of Lothering,_ she thought, recalling Leliana’s grief at the news about that town. Could she have had someone there? She had been a Chantry sister, but not ordained, so she was not bound by an oath of celibacy.

_I should just ask her,_ Elissa decided. If Leliana still had an active relationship with someone else, even someone whose fate was uncertain now, it was better to know.

She had just finished getting herself dressed when her... roommate... stretched awake. Elissa pasted a smile on her face. “Good morning,” she said.

Leliana glanced her way, smiling mildly. “Good morning. I hope you are feeling better today?”

“I am,” Elissa said. She glanced guiltily at the makeshift bed. “Did you sleep all right? You don’t have a sore back, do you?”

“I slept fine,” Leliana assured her. “I have slept in a tent for weeks now, after all, on this same mattress! And the floor is flat. No roots or rocks!”

Elissa chuckled wryly. “Well, I’m going to give you back your room tonight, so you won’t have to do it again, nevertheless.”

“You do not have to,” Leliana said quietly. “You could stay if you do not want to be alone. But—do what makes you comfortable,” she added quickly as Elissa’s eyes went wide.

_I’ll need some time to think that over,_ she thought, dutifully averting her eyes as Leliana changed into her day clothes.  _Is that an invitation—or just another offer of friendship and comfort?_ It frustrated her that she did not know.

Finally they were both dressed. Leliana sat down on the bed and brushed through her hair, and as she did, Elissa decided this was as good an opportunity as any to ask her question.

“You were there for me last night,” she said, “and now... I want to be there for you. If you need it,” she added awkwardly. “I was thinking about the day before yesterday, when we were preparing Redcliffe for battle, and you learned about Lothering.”

Leliana stiffened for a moment. “I knew that it would happen,” she said quietly, “and it did.”

“Did you leave someone behind?” Elissa asked. “Someone who was more to you than a friend? I need to know before I allow myself to....” She broke off, feeling flushed. “I think we both know what I’m getting at with this.”

Leliana set the brush down and stared ahead. She supposed she should have known that Elissa would work out something close to the truth. She was a clever woman. How to explain this, though? She had ended her relationship with Caitlyn, and she had thought that the Maker had affirmed her decision to do so... but she had already made the decision by herself, based on the fact that Caitlyn was unable to let go of someone else.

Now, based on the terrible news at the Circle, that was no longer a factor, and she also had no idea what the Maker wanted her to do, or if anything she had believed about her dream had been true.

But she also no longer had any idea if Caitlyn was still alive. The messenger had not been able to deliver her message. Had the Hawkes left despite not receiving word from her? Or had they waited until it was too late? Surely Caitlyn’s mother and siblings would have convinced her to flee, for her little son’s sake if nothing else. Surely they were safe in Kirkwall.

Leliana took a breath. “I was not with anyone else when I left Lothering,” she said, feeling a pang of guilt about the omission, but still unsure how to explain it. Her relationship with Caitlyn had dwindled because of the looming shadow of Anders—so wouldn’t that imply that the shadow was now lifted, the barrier removed, the broken heart of the young mother in need of healing even more than Elissa’s own heart? Elissa could easily take it that way... and Leliana realized that she did not want her to. “I was crying that day because... I had some very close friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Elissa said gently. “When the Blight is over, I could help you track them down.”

Leliana smiled. “That would be kind of you. We will look for your brother too... when the Blight is over.”

* * *

Elissa had expected the Arl of Redcliffe to die in his sleep overnight with the demon’s demise, but that had not happened. His condition was no better, but it was also no worse. He was in the same maddening stasis. Alistair looked wretched as he walked listlessly about the castle—and with that, Elissa remembered her words to him.

_“We are not going to leave him to die. You have my sworn word, as a Grey Warden and a Cousland, that we will try to help Eamon immediately after we have been to the Circle.”_

Was the oath fulfilled by the fact that they had already tried? Or was she bound to try _every_ possibility? Elissa recalled what Teagan had told her, that many knights of Redcliffe had gone looking for the Ashes of Andraste. Did her oath encompass something as seemingly outlandish as _that?_

Elissa knew that there was no consequence other than her own conscience for breaking this oath... but the more she thought about it, the more she concluded that she should at least learn what she could about the Sacred Ashes rather than dismissing them out of hand. Andraste had lived, after all. She had lived and died, and her body certainly had been reduced to ashes—although Archon Hessarian had ended her life with the Sword of Mercy, her body had still burned. Perhaps the archon himself had saved the ashes. Perhaps some of Andraste’s followers had. They had believed her to be the Maker’s Prophet from the beginning. They might have saved her remains. It wasn’t impossible.

With Leliana and Alistair in tow, she found Teagan again to ask him about it. “Where are the knights going, anyway?” she said. “Do they have an actual destination, or are they just going off on an open-ended search?”

“They are following the notes of Brother Genitivi,” Teagan said, “who has been researching the subject. Genitivi himself disappeared, but his assistant, Weylon, has set up here in Redcliffe. I think he tries to dissuade the knights from going, but the arlessa’s orders were what they were.”

“Where can we find this Weylon?”

“He’s been given quarters at the Chantry.”

“And he has Genitivi’s notes?”

“So it seems.” Teagan glanced curiously at them. “You mean to search?”

“Perhaps,” Elissa acknowledged. “If the information is promising.”

Alistair burst into a smile. Beside him, Leliana beamed too, eyes sparkling.

* * *

Weylon was not at the Chantry. The Revered Mother explained that he had been, but that one of the knights had returned—the only one so far—sporting severe injuries and missing one arm below the elbow, furiously demanding to see Weylon. By that time, the man had fled.

Elissa called Oscar to her side and began to search the rest of the village. Fortunately it did not take long to find the fugitive. He had gone to ground in the tavern—and as Elissa and her companions stormed upstairs, they soon heard angry shouts from behind one of the doors.

_“You two-faced lying impostor! You sent me into a trap!”_

_“Quite the opposite, I warned you not to go.”_

_“Who are you?”_ One of the speakers unsheathed steel.  _“Who are you and who are those—those_ people  _at the Spoiled Princess?”_

Elissa was thunderstruck.  _The Spoiled Princess?_ she thought.  _That’s the inn next to the Circle. I didn’t see any strange people. When did this start?_

_“You draw blade on me with one hand? You fool.”_ Behind the door, the other person—Weylon?—did something, causing the knight to scream. That was enough. Elissa smashed the door open, and Oscar bounded forward, barking and growling.

The knight was shrieking as a fire consumed his hair and burned his flesh. His sword clattered to the floor as he tried to pat out the flames. On the other side of the room, Weylon— _a mage!_ Elissa gasped—was readying another spell.

Oscar reached him, knocking him backward, just as Alistair gulped down something from a bottle, raised his hand, and did something that caused the mage to slam to the ground and the fire to vanish.  _Templar,_ Elissa thought, darting toward the fallen knight. She looked back at Alistair. “You have him in hand?” she asked. He nodded, keeping his gaze trained on Weylon—or whoever the mage really was—as the dog kept him pinned to the floor. Saliva dripped onto the mage’s exposed neck from sharp canine teeth an inch away from his jugular.

“We’ll get healing for you,” Elissa told the knight. “What happened? You searched for the Sacred Ashes, but how does the Spoiled Princess fit in?”

“Thought Genitivi would be there,” the knight gasped. His burns were red and oozing. He glared at the mage. “That one lied. The papers look real, but... he lied. I bet all the other knights met the same fate... or worse.”

Elissa stalked over to the mage. She drew her blades. “Who are you?” she demanded. “You are not Genitivi’s assistant. What did you do, kill the real Weylon and steal the man’s papers?”

The mage glared at her. “You ask too many questions. All of your sort have asked _too many questions,_ starting with Genitivi, and if you know what is good for you, you will let me go and never meddle with us again!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she replied. “Whoever your ‘us’ are, you have already invited _meddling_ by murdering innocent, well-meaning knights and travelers! _Who are you?_ What have you done with Genitivi? And why are you trying to kill anyone looking for the Sacred Ashes?”

The man glowered, but in a flash, that glower transformed into a malicious smirk. Elissa could not have believed it—a full-grown mabari was atop him—but mages had special abilities at their disposal, and before she could react, the man cast a spell that sent her dog flying backward through the air. He was on his feet even as Oscar crashed to the ground with a yelp, readying another spell.

Elissa lunged at him with her blades. She had hoped to take him captive for questioning, but that option was clearly foreclosed now. She evaded a lightning bolt and cut a deep gash across his torso as Alistair brought down another Holy Smite, winding him. A feathered arrow from Leliana’s bow pierced his neck, and Elissa’s second lunge through his throat ended him.

She instantly rushed toward her dog, who was whimpering in the corner. He had broken a claw in the hard fall, and his paw was bloody. “Oh no,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get you to Wynne.” She glanced back at the burned knight. “Alistair... could you help with him?”

Alistair lifted the knight to his feet and helped him stand. Elissa spared the mage’s body only a contemptuous glare as they headed to the castle.

* * *

Wynne was glad to help the injured man and dog, and the Revered Mother had been suitably shocked that the man she had allowed to stay at the Chantry was an impostor. He had made off with Genitivi’s papers, but Elissa sent a messenger to the tavern, and before long, Bella herself returned with the trove of documents. Elissa began to study them, noticing as she settled in at Redcliffe that Leliana also took a keen interest in these papers.

_Well, she would be particularly interested in the life of Andraste,_ Elissa thought, smiling. Wynne was also interested once she had healed the dog and the knight. Of her other companions, Zevran seemed intrigued, and impressed by the possibility that the Sacred Ashes might indeed be real. Alistair was not a scholar by nature and wasn’t interested in poring over them, but he was happy to accept what she, Leliana, and Wynne—the latter two in particular—were relating as they read through. Morrigan remained skeptical, as did Sten, but the Qunari seemed more disdainful of the idea of a search than of the information.

The information was much more promising than she had expected. Genitivi had certainly been on the trail of _something,_ and it was clear that he believed it was the mortal remains of the Maker’s Bride. His research was meticulous, pointing toward a town called Haven that was nestled in the Frostbacks, in disputed territory between Ferelden and Orlais. Elissa wondered about _that_ angle. Might there be people who did not want his discovery—and it appeared he _was_ on the verge of discovering _something—_ to be unearthed because it might set off a major conflict between nations about who “owned” the location?

His standing in the Chantry was a bit ambiguous. He was renowned as a traveling scholar, and his histories and cultural accounts were widely read in literate households, but some of his research seemed to get the Chantry’s collective nose out of joint.

“It is not the whole Chantry,” Leliana assured Elissa on this point quietly. “Mother Dorothea, my mentor, respects his work. But there are other priests who are less forward-thinking who do not like the facts that he often uncovers.”

“What do you think of what he has found?” Elissa asked her. “As a bard, rather than a Chantry sister, what do you think of it?”

Leliana understood what her friend was asking, though it hurt her feelings a bit that Elissa apparently thought she would be blinded by optimism in her “Chantry sister hat.” She put it aside; Elissa was still struggling with darkness and cynicism of her own. “Honestly, I think he has discovered something, or is on the verge of it. Why else would there be an impostor who murdered his real assistant, stole his papers, and came here to Redcliffe to misdirect knights? Why would there be agents at the Spoiled Princess to intercept these seekers? He is hot on the trail of something important.”

Elissa considered her words carefully. Yes, this was reasoned as a sharp-eyed, clever-minded observer would reason. Someone had stationed people and laid elaborate traps to prevent the knights from finding Genitivi—and the false Weylon himself had been directing them to the inn rather than to Haven. They were hiding something.

“Who do you think these people are?” Elissa asked. “Could they be from Orlais, trying to stop people in Redcliffe from finding the Ashes and claiming them for Ferelden?”

Leliana shook her head. “It is not impossible, but I doubt it. If the Ashes do exist, and they are what Genitivi has nearly found, the _Chantry_ will have the right to claim them, not Ferelden or Orlais—or any other nation. And the Chantry would not do this. It would work with Genitivi, who is after all a brother of the faith, find the Ashes, and announce it as a holy discovery. I do not know who these people could be, just that they are clearly up to no good.”

Elissa set the papers down. “I agree.” She contemplated her course. _I swore an oath to Alistair to try to save Arl Eamon. It looks as if this is a real possibility, a legitimate hope. It’s hard to believe, but... so it seems. That means that, for the sake of knowing that I kept my oath, I must see where it leads. I could not live with myself otherwise._

She turned to Leliana. “Are you ready for another adventure?”

Leliana’s sapphire eyes gleamed. “I hoped you would say that.”

* * *

Not all of the companions took the news of Elissa’s decision so well.

“Why are you doing this?” Sten asked in his usual blunt manner. “You are chasing a legend. This is a diversion. It takes us away from our goal of killing the Archdemon.”

Elissa tried not to let him see, but his words cut deeply—because there seemed a grain of truth to them. _Can honor and duty conflict?_ she thought. _What is my prime duty? The Blight is more important than Fergus, so it is more important than Eamon. And yet... I did make a promise._ “We need the arl to awaken,” she said. “This may be a legend, but Andraste was a real person, and it may be that her ashes have these special properties. It seems to be Arl Eamon’s only chance.”

“You are the daughter of people that your nation deems its rulers,” Sten replied. “You could ask others of your class to call an assembly.”

“I could,” she said, “but this is about my honor. I gave my word that I would aid Arl Eamon. That matters to me.”

Sten considered this before nodding. “If you see it as a matter of honor. But I stand by my assessment of the likelihood of this being successful. You know what that knight reported. You are walking into lethal danger for what may be a phantom.”

Elissa closed her eyes tightly for a moment. It was true. It looked horribly likely that everyone else who had sought the Ashes had died. But as she considered that, she recalled Leliana’s reasoning. She opened her eyes and faced the Qunari again. “The fact that there were so many disappearances, the ambush at the Spoiled Princess, the false Weylon—all of these things actually suggest that the Ashes are real,” she said. “Brother Genitivi got close to  _something_ and there is clearly an organized group of people who  _do not_ want others to follow after him. They, whoever ‘they’ are, are guarding something that they don’t want others to find.”

“That is true, but it may not be these ashes.”

“It may not,” she admitted, “but I am honor-bound to find out.” She gazed out at the rest of the group. “That said, Sten has a point. This is dangerous, isolated, and some of us need to keep order here in Redcliffe. _This_ demon is dead, but Connor is a mage and his father is still convalescent.”

Morrigan spoke up. “I have no particular fondness for this wretched little village,” she sneered, “but staying here seems far more sensible than going off into the wild on this... hunt. I would stay here.”

“As you wish,” Elissa agreed amiably. She had had no intention of inviting Morrigan in the first place. “With me, I would like Leliana... and oh, yes, of course, you,” she said as her dog rose to his feet and approached her. “I couldn’t go anywhere without you!” She smiled as he barked, and Leliana, delighted, moved to her side. “Also....” She gazed out, considering. It was advisable to have a mage along; the false Weylon had been a mage, suggesting that whatever band of miscreants was doing this, they had apostates among their numbers. Alistair’s Templar skills had been invaluable at the tavern, but Sten’s words about the Archdemon gnawed at her, and she knew that she would have to leave Alistair behind as the other Grey Warden. _He is going to be hurt,_ she thought, _but he’ll have to get over that._ “Wynne, I would like you to come as well. Everyone else will stay here in Redcliffe. Alistair is in charge. Obey him as you would me.”

Wynne gasped, delighted and honored. But sure enough, Elissa noticed Alistair’s face fall as he was not chosen.

“Oh, I do hope that the Ashes of Andraste are really there,” Leliana said. “And how wonderful if we have the chance to rescue them from a group of... I suppose they would be more than simple outlaws....”

Elissa smiled, glad that someone, at least, was excited about this. For her part, she just felt weary. Genitivi had, as she’d said, gotten close to  _something,_ but what if he had been following the trail of something else all along?

She was actually grateful for the distraction of Alistair’s private objection, which she had known was coming.

“How could you leave me?” he complained, out of everyone else’s hearing. He looked genuinely hurt. “How could you leave me _in charge?_ You know that I don’t like to lead.”

Elissa sighed. “Alistair, we cannot both go on this trip. You know that and you know  _why.”_

He glowered. “If it’s because I’m a son of Maric—”

“That’s actually not what I meant—but I’ll get to that in a bit. I meant that you and I are the only Grey Wardens in Ferelden. If I don’t come back, you are _the_ Grey Warden in Ferelden. We can’t both risk ourselves for this.”

He looked horrified. “Don’t say that!”

“We have to face reality,” she insisted. “We have to be prepared for any outcome. As Sten said, whoever goes on this mission will be walking right into lethal danger, and in an area where no one can help us. Ferelden cannot be left without Wardens.”

He still looked sick at what she was suggesting, but he managed a nod.

“And... yes, you are a son of Maric. You need to be more comfortable leading and making decisions.”

He scowled. “Are you planning to make me be King?”

“Let’s not jump ahead too far. The fact _right now_ is, if I don’t return, _you_ are the Warden-Commander of Ferelden.”

He sighed. “Is this about what I said to you about Jowan and Isolde? I am sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t have shouted at you after the fact. You didn’t want to risk the village and the Circle mages. I shouldn’t have questioned you like I did, especially after it was already done.”

She managed a smile. “I appreciate your apology. And I told you then, there is nothing wrong with having opinions of your own about what is best. But since you do have ideas of your own, that means you aren’t as much of a follower as you think you are.”

“But you _are_ still in charge.”

“While we are in this same unit, yes, I am. But if anything should happen to me, you will have to lead in my stead. You will have to end the Blight, openly take charge, and rebuild the Grey Wardens. There is no other choice. Otherwise the Orlesians will send their own Wardens, and you heard as well as I did that Empress Celene was insisting that chevaliers had to come along with them. If you aren’t killed outright in the midst of that, Loghain’s people would seize you to try to use you as a figurehead.” Her words were blunt and harsh, but Alistair needed to face reality. He _was_ a Theirin by blood, and it was quite likely that too many people knew it for him to carry that secret to his grave.

He was still shocked and horrified, though. He gaped at her. “Loghain thinks we planned Cailan’s death!”

“But he hates Orlesians much more than he hates Grey Wardens. If the only way he thought he could forestall another Orlesian invasion was to capture you and present you as the rightful king, he would do it. You can’t run and hide from what you are, Alistair, either a son of Maric or a Grey Warden. And while I am gone, you must lead the group as the acting commander.”

He continued to gape back, but as she turned away to prepare for her journey, she thought she saw a recognition of reality dawn on his face.

* * *

Elissa was relieved to get away from Redcliffe. She had not realized until she was leading her small group into the mountains just _how_ relieved she was. The dark events in Redcliffe had been weighing on her soul more heavily than even she had realized, and the crisp, increasingly cool, blessedly fresh and pure mountain air felt invigorating to her. It was almost like being back on the Storm Coast, stalking through the woods, a wolf at her side.

She was worried about Wynne’s stamina for a while before realizing that the Healer was periodically casting spells on herself to restore her energy. Wynne seemed to have it in hand, and brushed off Elissa’s inquiries about her strength, but Elissa nonetheless slowed her pace down a bit to avoid a repeat of the scene leaving the Circle Tower. The slowed pace allowed her to observe things that otherwise might have escaped her notice, including the signs of recently abandoned campsites and tribal painted markings on the trunks of trees.

“Is this Avvar territory?” Elissa asked her companions. “It looks like it.”

“It certainly _was,_ though I do not know if the Avvar hold that existed here still remains. They may have evacuated to somewhere else in the mountains because of the Blight,” Wynne said. “But... yes, this is the outskirts of the Frostback Basin, and it is Avvar territory.”

Elissa recalled that her mother had sent people to trade with an Avvar clan for the ranger tome. The book itself still sat in her pack, though she had not opened it in years. _I bet there are wolves in these mountains,_ she thought. The memory and the whole atmosphere of this place—natural and Avvar-made—seemed to tug at her soul, and she thought, perhaps, when they made camp tonight, she might want to crack the book open again....

But before she could think too hard about this idea, an aggressive shout from a decidedly non-Avvar voice broke the peace of the mountain forest.

_“There_ they are! Kill the redhead!”

_Leliana!_ Elissa thought. In a flash, she had drawn her weapons even as Wynne cast a protective magical barrier around their group that would repel projectile weapons for a short time. She scanned the woods quickly before catching a glimpse of movement. With a shout, she rushed for the figure.

It was a group, she realized with dismay. How many? Were these the same people who had been attacking the Redcliffe knights? But why would they target Leliana, if so? While she and her dog engaged them in close range, Wynne and Leliana shot at them from a distance.

The dog finished off his target, and with blood dripping from his muzzle, lunged at the one Elissa was fighting, who seemed to be the leader. She kicked him hard in his crotch, startling him and enabling Oscar to knock him over. The dog bit hard at his upper arm, drawing blood immediately. He drew back and growled threateningly, seconds away from a lethal bite to his neck—

“Stop. Don’t kill this one.”

Without questioning, Elissa called her dog off, but she did wonder why Leliana wanted to spare his life. She was shocked at the furious, dark glower on Leliana’s face as the former bard stalked over. It was a side of Leliana that Elissa had rarely seen, even in combat. Until now, their combat had not been  _personal_ for Leliana, but clearly this was. This had targeted her.

“You are no common bandit,” Leliana said. “None of you were. Who are you? Why are you attacking me?”

The man spat blood. “I was told it would be an easy job. Kill the little red-haired girl, deal with the others as we pleased.”

_Little red-haired girl?_ Elissa thought angrily. “Whoever described Leliana that way was a fool,” she snapped. “How did you know to find her in the middle of the Frostback Basin? Have you been tracking us?”

“Heard you lot were in Redcliffe. Then they said you had headed into the mountains. Didn’t say why.”

“And it’s none of your business. Why did your patron want her dead?”

“I don’t know why. It don’t pay to ask that kind of question. I just wanted money.” He laughed. “Money! Looks like I’ll be lucky to survive. Unless we could work something out?”

“Speak quickly,” Leliana said in frigid tones.

“I have no quarrel with you, but I know how to find the one who wanted you dead.”

“Who?”

“Never got his name, and I think he was working for someone else too. Just a minute. Got directions on how to get to the house. It’s in Denerim.”

Elissa motioned for her mabari to pull back and allow the assassin to search for his papers, though she kept her blades against his skin in case he made any false moves. He only took a sheet of parchment out of his pack, however, passing it to Leliana.

“Thank you. Now _leave._ I never want to see you again,” Leliana said.

Elissa raised an eyebrow. “Since he was targeting you, this is your decision, but... are you sure?”

“You spared Zevran. I know about hired assassins. It is not personal.” She glowered at the directions. “And I know who hired him. We will deal with her after we have returned.” She scowled at the assassin. “I said _go.”_

He did not need to be told a third time.

* * *

There had indeed been an Avvar hold, and there was a well-constructed and very large treehouse, completely abandoned, just beckoning them. The sun was low in the sky, and they deemed it a good spot to stop and rest.

“This is Marjolaine’s doing,” Leliana seethed once they were settled in. “My former bardmaster. She did this.”

“The one who betrayed you?” Elissa asked.

“The very same. These are directions to her house in Denerim. I know it well. I believed I had left her behind, that I was done with her treacherous ways, but she will not leave me be, and now she is endangering the mission against the Blight.” She scowled furiously. “This cannot stand. I must go to Denerim to confront her after we have obtained the Ashes... or... returned.”

Wynne gave them a compassionate look. “I will leave the two of you to talk. The fight today has tired me, and I need to rest.”

“Are you all right?” Elissa asked.

“I am,” Wynne assured them. “I will say more as to why at a better time, but... I am quite fine. I just need to rest.” She smiled and headed up to the upper level of the structure.

Elissa wondered what Wynne was alluding to, but she would not find out tonight. Leliana, however, did want to talk, and Elissa’s curiosity instantly turned back to the events of the day and Leliana’s past with Marjolaine.

They gathered close to a torch that Wynne had magically lit for them, and Elissa turned to Leliana. “Why would Marjolaine hunt you almost three years later? Did she never send assassins after you when you served in the Chantry?”

“She never did,” Leliana said. She sighed heavily. “I should tell you the full story at last. I have thought it over since we were attacked, and I suspect now that she has decided to attack me because I have left the cloister, am traveling with a Grey Warden and a noble, and... her betrayal was over a very specific, and potentially very dangerous, matter.”

A chill prickled down Elissa’s back. She glanced down at the ground, thirty feet below them. Anyone trying to attack would have to climb the wooden steps to this structure. Oscar would be upon them before they made it halfway.

“I was in Denerim with Marjolaine and two of my close associates and friends. We were sent to disgrace a bann who had offended an Orlesian noble. However, Marjolaine had another purpose.” Her voice darkened.

“So she was already deceiving you even before she tried to kill you.”

“Deception is the trade of a bard... but I should have considered what it meant that she was unwilling to share her true intentions with _me._ Her real plan that night was to pass documents to a Fereldan captain in the Arl of Denerim’s estate. These documents contained the secret location of Orlesian troops.”

Elissa stared at her. “But the war was long over. Why would Ferelden even be interested in that information?”

Leliana smiled bitterly. “The countries, as Mother Dorothea said to me, were ‘merely not at war.’ The captain in question was a vicious man named Harwen Raleigh. He was a torturer,” she said, wincing at the terrible memories. “He... he locked me in the Arl’s dungeon and tortured me... tortured all of us... one of us, to death....” She turned away, almost crying.

Elissa moved closer and put a hand on her shoulders. “It’s over,” she whispered, rubbing Leliana’s back.

This seemed to comfort Leliana. “He did not rape, at least, but the torture... I will bear the memories for the rest of my life.” She shuddered. “This Raleigh fought in the Rebellion as head of a company infamous for its cruelty and butchery. There were atrocities on both sides, of course. And it is to King Maric’s great credit that he was so repulsed by Raleigh’s deeds that he did not reinstate the man’s lands after he took the throne. But Raleigh was angry and wanted to... take matters into his own hands. He believed that Maric was too willing to restore diplomatic relations with Orlais after Empress Celene ascended the throne. He wanted Marjolaine’s documents in order to take the revenge that he believed had been denied to him.”

Elissa stared at Leliana in horror. “He wanted to attack Orlesian soldiers without provocation?”

Leliana bowed her head in reluctant assent.

“And Marjolaine accused you of being the traitor?”

“She did. When I confronted her, she betrayed me. She turned me over to his tortures.”

Elissa gave her another hug. “It is over. You will never fall into his clutches again.”

“No,” Leliana agreed darkly, “because he is dead.”

“Did you kill him?” she asked quietly, caressing her shoulders.

“No. I met a man in the dungeon who had been arrested for poaching and also suffered his tortures. He requested the honor. He joined the Chantry too. It was Mother Dorothea, in fact, who rescued us. She had the army documents, because the Chantry was going to provide charity for them. Marjolaine stole them from her, and she felt terrible guilt that it had harmed us... and killed one of my friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Elissa said. She rested her head on Leliana’s shoulder.

“Marjolaine was using Raleigh’s thirst for revenge for other ends. I took the part of Orlais then, but since I lived in Ferelden for three years, I have also come to see the Fereldan point of view. Not Raleigh’s, of course,” she clarified, “but... if the plot had succeeded, there would have been immense pressure on Celene to retaliate, even though he would not have been acting for anyone but himself. It would have been dreadful for Ferelden.”

“It could have meant full-scale war again,” Elissa agreed. “It would have been a disaster! We defeated them once, but it took so much out of us... and then to have to fight again, so soon, for no reason other than one torturing monster’s personal vendetta....” A horrible realization then struck her. “Someone _wanted_ that,” she gasped. “Who was Marjolaine _really_ working for?”

“To this day I do not know,” Leliana said, her voice dark. “What I do know is that she was playing a far deeper game than I knew at the time, even after I saw those papers. At the time I thought she was merely trying to sow chaos out of the indifferent joy of ‘the Game’ and forgot that even the Game has rules against treason. Now, though... I too believe that she was trying to incite war between Orlais and Ferelden for some patron. It makes no sense otherwise.”

Elissa considered that before gazing shrewdly at Leliana. “You must have some guesses as to who,” she said.

Leliana sighed. “Guesses, but no proof. But—yes, there are nobles in Orlais, in the Imperial line of Valmont and its branches, who would delight in a renewed war with Ferelden. They feel that Celene has been too unwilling to fight to regain what Florian lost. There are also rumors about her and why she is still single at twenty-six. Rumors that she can find pleasure in men, but that she prefers the company of women, like us.”

In spite of everything, Elissa found that amusing. “Oh? Do you know this from personal experience?” she teased daringly.

Leliana suppressed a snicker. “No, sadly for your wicked imagination, I do not. My list of famous partners is... nonexistent.  _So far.”_

Elissa managed a chuckle as she leaned into her companion, enjoying the moment of fun flirty teasing and innuendo—but the moment ended quickly.

“So yes, there are those in Celene’s own family who would dethrone her, and Marjolaine’s services as a bard commanded a high price and she was very well-known,” Leliana continued. “I do suspect now that she was working for some rival and relation of Celene. But I cannot prove it.”

Elissa considered that, thinking of everything that had happened. Celene had made it a condition of Orlesian Grey Warden support in the Blight that Cailan also would have had to allow the army of chevaliers to set up garrisons in Ferelden. That was unlike her past pattern of non-militarism, suggesting pressure from other sources. Loghain had hated that demand... and now he had teamed up with Howe, who....

Elissa felt a stone dropping down her stomach. The torch’s flickering seemed suddenly menacing.

“Elissa? What is the matter?”

She realized that her expression was giving away her feelings. “Howe,” she said, the bitterness of her tone surprising herself. “He accused my parents of collaborating with Orlais, with the Empress. That’s the story he is telling. And... my father _did_ pay a diplomatic visit to Orlais last year....”

Leliana moved closer. Elissa felt the heat of her body close to her own. “It likely had nothing to do with this business with Marjolaine and the papers,” she soothed. “That occurred years ago. Events in the Game can change quickly.”

“I’m sure that my parents had nothing to do with Harwen Raleigh... and I’m sure that they were _not_ traitors,” she said fiercely, “but... if this Raleigh was ever an associate of Rendon Howe... if their diplomatic effort of behalf of the king, their outreach to a monarch who appeared not to be a warmonger....”

Leliana looked confused about where Elissa was going with this, so she tried to collect her increasingly turbulent thoughts, disorganized with the rising heat of anger. “You said that you fear someone in Celene’s family was using Raleigh to start a war again... and now  _I_ fear that they got to Howe too. That he heard some foul lie about my parents and the Empress from Orlesian agents who wanted war again and presented the Empress as being cozier with Fereldan nobles than she really was.” She got to her feet almost without thinking and began to pace around heatedly. “Howe is a traitor, and a coward, and a despicable murderer. He killed them in their own home rather than taking his claims to the King or Queen. He even killed my sister-in-law and nephew. He owns his deeds and he will face justice. He is a vile, nasty piece of work just as Harwen Raleigh was. But I have to know, now, whether anyone else was whispering in his ear,” she said, her voice suddenly breaking. She realized that she had gotten up, leaving Leliana seated, and felt shame as she took her seat beside her again. “I have to know. Somehow. Someday.”

Leliana’s arms wrapped around her. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. “If anything Marjolaine did contributed to your family’s murder, I am so, so sorry.”

Elissa felt wretched. “No,  _I_ am sorry,” she said. “I’m only speculating. You  _know_ that Marjolaine betrayed you. I... I shouldn’t have taken that from you. I shouldn’t have made it about me... and nothing Marjolaine might have done is your fault. You tried to stop her that night. You objected. And you left her.  _I_ am sorry. This is not about me, so far as I know. I shouldn’t have....”

“It is natural to wonder about these things,” Leliana said gently, “since Howe made the accusation that he did. And as for myself... it was three years ago. My heart... well, it will always bear Marjolaine’s marks, just as my body will always bear the scar she inflicted on me with her dagger that night—”

“Oh, Leliana,” Elissa said sympathetically, feeling even guiltier.

She smiled sadly. “But it is not a recent wound. I found solace in the Maker....”  _And in Caitlyn Hawke,_ she thought—but that was the one topic that she could not discuss with Elissa yet. “I can talk about it now without much raw pain anymore. She was special to me, but that is the key word:  _was._ Now, she is nothing. Her treachery does not hurt me. She threatens the mission, and the memories will always be present, but she does not hurt my heart anymore. But you  _do_ hurt. Your pain  _is_ raw. If we both survive this Blight... if I can find answers for you about your family, I will.”

Elissa finally returned Leliana’s hug. They had hugged and comforted each other throughout the entire narrative, but finally, they were sharing an embrace. “Could the same people have hurt us both?” Elissa whispered as tears formed.

Leliana did not know what to say. “It is possible,” she finally said. “But... perhaps that is a part of why we have been brought together, so that we can heal from it and bring justice to them.”

Elissa did not know what to say to that. Did Leliana mean “together” as the beginning of a romantic relationship? “Leliana,” she finally said, “I don’t want to dance around this any longer.”

Leliana released her from the hug and drew back, gazing seriously at her.

Elissa took a breath. “Do you... have feelings for me beyond friendship? Since I’m the one asking, I will tell you... I have developed feelings for _you._ But... if you don’t feel the same... I’ll stop now and never mention it again.”

Leliana drew her breath sharply. _If I say yes, if I tell her the truth, what does that mean? Did I actually do what the Maker wanted me to do when I left with her? The events since then almost suggest that I did not, that I should not have given up on Caitlyn, but... am I reading too much into it? Perhaps that was where I have erred all along, reading meaning wrongly into some events. Not everything that happens is what the Maker wills. I told Elissa that myself. It may be that my dream was a real vision but other things were not signs from the Maker. Andraste is the only one who was His Prophet. I am not._

_I hope we are on the trail of the true Ashes. If I can just feel the sacredness of Andraste’s presence, perhaps I will know these answers in my heart._

Finally she replied. “I do have feelings for you beyond friendship. You... are becoming as special to me as she was.” _And more special than the one I am not talking about, because I never allowed her to be._ She swallowed hard, setting aside the pang of guilt for that. “I care for you. I just... need a little more time.”

“Time for what?” Elissa asked quietly. Her heart was both elated and disappointed by this answer.

Leliana took a deep breath. “I have... been troubled a lot by the things that we have seen. I have been troubled _spiritually._ My faith....” She sighed. “There have been things that made me doubt, made me question my vision and my understanding of the Maker. It is the same for you, is it not?”

Tears came to Elissa’s eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

Leliana gazed sympathetically at her. “I think we need to try to heal this hurt if we can. I hope that we do find the remains of Andraste. But... there is a possibility that we will not, so I will not let my faith and recovery hinge on that. We _need_ to recover,” she emphasized. “And we can do it together.” She smiled at Elissa. “Can we... make a promise, of sorts?”

“What kind of promise?” Elissa’s heart started beating faster.

“I do not think it would be best for us to plunge headlong into... anything... right now. I do not want our relationship built on pain. Once the pain fades, what would that then mean for us? But we can heal together, with the promise of a future once we are ready to truly enjoy it.”

Elissa considered this. The disappointment left her as she took in Leliana’s words. She nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” She smiled. “Promise, then.”

Leliana smiled back. “Promise.”

They relaxed, leaning against the wooden structure and gazing at the torch. The flames and sparks were now friendly and warm, not menacing or dark. Elissa recalled how innocently happy she had felt earlier in the day when they had entered the mountains.

“I used to hunt in the woods of the Storm Coast,” she said suddenly. “I remembered how it felt earlier today.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow at her. “All by yourself?”

“Usually,” Elissa admitted. “Well, by myself except for....” She trailed off.

Leliana raised both eyebrows.

“For my dog,” Elissa said. “And....” She took a deep breath. If she told this to Leliana, it would mean talking about her mother, and not in the dark, miserable context of her giving her life for Elissa, as she had done at Redcliffe. It would mean talking about happy memories, proud memories. _Could_ she think of those happy memories again? Was it even _right_ to find happiness in them? They were no longer perfectly golden anymore, but neither were they pure misery and despair. _My family is gone,_ she thought. _They died brutal, bloody deaths, except possibly for Fergus—unless he did too, far away from everyone he loved. Should I ever be happy again while thinking of them?_

“Elissa, are you all right?”

A constellation in the night sky caught Elissa’s eye: Fenrir, the Wolf. It hurt her heart to remember...  _and I have a dog now,_ she thought. And yet....

“I... don’t know,” she finally answered. “I _want_ to be all right, but.... I was remembering happier things just now, and I feel guilty about it.”

“Don’t,” Leliana said at once. Her eyes were wide with feeling. “Your family would want you to remember happy moments and take comfort in them. They would not want you to think only of the evil _that night._ You have two decades of memories with them. Think of them and be happy!”

Elissa’s eyes became hot again. She recalled, oddly, that Duncan had given her this exact advice. They were probably right. Her many years of memories that she and her family had formed _themselves_ meant much more than the ugly ones of one night that Rendon Howe had forced upon them.

_Leliana told me something very personal about herself. She trusted me. I should tell her this._

“I need to tell you something too,” she said quietly. Leliana’s attention was hers at once as she reached into her pack and withdrew the ranger tome, staring hard at it. “This is something my mother got for me. It came from an Avvar hold, so I was thinking about it today. It’s....” She swallowed. “It is about an ancient gift, a connection to animals. I’m what they call a ranger. It runs in my mother’s family. She wasn’t one herself, but the bloodline ran through her. ‘My’ animal was the wolf.”

Leliana was gazing at her, enchanted and delighted.

“Before I bonded with Oscar, I had a wolf. A direwolf, in fact. I saved her as a pup and she grew up by my side. I... lost her in terrible circumstances....” She sighed. “A vile man, a noble, tried to rape me.”

Leliana gasped and drew close to her to try to comfort her.

“It was the son of the Arl of Denerim,” she said, bile in her words. “It sounds like that family is just as _rotten_ as the Howes, if this Raleigh kept his prisoners in the arl’s dungeon. The filthy monster had teamed up with Howe’s younger son, also, who imagined himself close to a betrothal to me. He _wasn’t._ But he thought he was entitled to me, and it made him angry that I was not interested in him or any other man—so he got his foul Kendells friend to try to break me.”

“And your wolf...?”

“I fought back, of course, and she came to my rescue. They didn’t succeed. But... he hurt her.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “Mortally. My father had to give her a merciful death. She was _bonded_ to me,” Elissa choked out, “just as closely bonded as a mabari, if not more so. I couldn’t bear to use my ranger talents again after that. My mother wanted me to... but I just couldn’t.”

“You saved the book, though,” Leliana said softly.

Elissa wiped her face. “My mother saved the book. That night, the night Howe betrayed us, she got it out of the family vault. I got the Cousland sword and shield... a shield I don’t use,” she muttered, “and that is what I have from my father’s side. The book was  _her_ final gift to me.” She gazed at it again, gingerly opening the cover, as if afraid of what this would lead to.

As she flipped through the pages, the old, familiar text and drawings seemed to beckon to her again. The mountain air filled her lungs, sweet and crisp. Overhead, the stars twinkled.

Leliana gazed silently for a long time. Finally she spoke. “I have heard of this gift, but only in stories. That you have it seems important—and now you are a Grey Warden during a Blight. I have lately been experiencing doubts... but I still believe in the Maker, and I still believe He fashioned each of us as we are for a reason. He gave you this gift—and this must be why.”

“That’s what my mother said,” Elissa whispered. “When she gave me the book that night, that’s almost exactly what she said.”

“I think she was right. This is a part of you.”

“I’m afraid of hurting another wolf.”

“Do not be. It will have chosen you, just as your mabari chose you. Your wolf chose to defend you, knowing what it might mean. You know what it could mean every time you do battle, yet you choose it anyway. It is the same.”

Elissa thought about that, gazing ahead. “I’ve felt a call ever since we entered the mountains.”

“Then you should not hold it back. Your mother was right. And... it would be a way to honor her, to always keep her close to you.” She lay down on her bedroll. “Think about it.”

They fell silent after that, Leliana falling asleep even as Elissa stayed awake a bit longer. She gazed at the sky, the constellation of the Wolf, until finally sleep overtook her as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve made this discussion congruent with the events of the DLC. As you can see, I’ve also expanded upon its implication, that somebody wanted war, and how warmongering from other Orlesian nobles (lookin’ at you Gaspard) could have pressured Celene to do some things around this time that are pretty aggressively imperialist (the chevaliers-for-Wardens terms, and the plot to regain Ferelden by a state marriage with Cailan). The plot at the center of _Leliana’s Song_ is a weird one-off if it doesn’t connect to anything, but it very easily could do so. As for Howe and Harwen Raleigh, there’ll be more about that. They seem like a pair who’d know each other.
> 
> There will also be an eventual connection, via Dorothea, between _Leliana’s Song_ and Leliana’s guilt about Hawke. But I’ll just keep that to myself for now. (This is _not_ something that is spoiled/revealed in my _DA2_ fics.)


	16. A Gauntlet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for the wait for this chapter. The past month has been extremely hectic and emotionally draining for me for a variety of reasons (nothing too bad in my life, just stress about a lot of stuff, personal and societal). I am unsure about this chapter, because of the nature of it and the fact that I'm doing more with this quest than just narrating the events as they occur. Do let me know how it works.

Elissa felt better the next morning. It had felt good to talk about these things, to face the wound. Gone were the vulnerability and embarrassment that she had felt in Redcliffe after her companions saw her fall to the ground in a miserable flashback. She would prefer still that some of her companions did not see vulnerable moments, but Leliana was not one of them.

After what Leliana herself had confessed, she understood that they were on a special level of trust. It was brave to admit to having been involved in a plot—even unknowingly and unwillingly—that, had it succeeded, would have embroiled Ferelden in a renewed war. Most Fereldans would judge and condemn Leliana, and she had to know it. Yet she had trusted Elissa.

Elissa was glad that she had finally told someone about Faolin, Vaughan, and her special talent. When she had lost her family, she had realized that there might be no one but herself alive who knew what she was, what the wolf had meant to her, other than her former lover—who disapproved of it. That degree of aloneness was hard to take. But now someone did know, someone who thought the gift a fine thing.

She thought of the longings she had felt before Howe attacked Highever and everything changed. No one had ever had _everythin_ _g_ _._ One was too different from her in station, one was too superficial, one was too brief, one was a liar... and one was too judgmental.

 _But_ _I am a Grey Warden now, and Leliana is not my servant, but my comrade-in-arms. She is smart and thoughtful and I love to talk with her... she wants love in her life again too... she is not deceiving me... and she accepts me, even this strange, half-mystical part of me. Perhaps Leliana can be all the things that my other lovers and fancies weren’t...._

Elissa broke off this thought. _We talked about it,_ _and there is a good chance in the future. She knows that I am interested and returns_ _the interest. She just wants to take her time and be sure. She wants anything we build to be based on more than unhappiness and pain, as she said._ A smile involuntarily formed on her face. _I can wait for that._

* * *

Elissa noticed a certain pointed look in Wynne’s eyes. She was not surprised when Wynne gestured at her for a private word.

“You’re quite taken with each other, aren’t you?”

“We are,” she replied, her tones cool. “We aren’t a couple yet, but we’ve discussed it as a possibility for the future. I hope it doesn’t offend you, two women together.” There was an edge to her last sentence, an implication that if it did, the mage had best keep her views to herself.

However, Wynne shook her head. “Some women are attracted to other women. It is part of the variety of the Maker’s world. No, I mention this for another reason. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, the familiarity with which you speak, how she always finds a way to place herself next to you.”

Elissa smiled in spite of things. “So she does. We are good for each other.”

“I’ve noticed your blossoming relationship, and I wanted to ask you where you thought it was going. Leliana is a remarkable girl, sincere and guileless, and she has opened her heart to you. I would not like to see her hurt.”

“She isn’t as guileless as you think,” Elissa said wryly. “Sincere, yes—but she knows a lot about _guile._ And I don’t much like what you seem to be implying. I’m not tricking or manipulating her. I don’t intend to hurt her.”

“Not intentionally, no. I misspoke and I apologize. I know you do not mean ill to her. But there is great potential for tragedy here.”

Elissa tried to control her annoyance. “We could die, it’s true,” she said. “We lead risky lives. But everyone will die someday. That’s no reason to refuse the chance of love when it presents itself.”

“Oh, I am doing a terrible job of explaining myself,” Wynne lamented. “What I mean is this. Love is ultimately selfish. It demands that one be devoted to a single person, who may fully occupy one’s mind and heart, to the exclusion of all else. A Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to make a choice between saving your love and saving everyone else, and then what would you do?”

Elissa gaped at the mage. “Do you know something about Grey Wardens along those lines? If you do, I’d prefer that you just told me.”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t know any Grey Warden secrets. I merely speak with the experience of an older woman.” A sad look came over her.

Elissa was intensely curious about what Wynne meant by “experience,” but she decided not to ask right now. “Leliana and I can handle what life—what the Blight—throws at us together,” she said. “We’re stronger that way. We have helped each other. I’m not going to cut that out of our lives now.”

“If you insist.” This seemed to indicate that the discussion was at an end. She gave Elissa a concerned look as she moved back to gather her things.

* * *

Elissa did not know what to make of Wynne’s conversation. She did not believe that Wynne had lied about knowing some dark secret of Grey Wardens that would require her to choose between Leliana and saving Ferelden, but there was _something_ that Wynne had not told her. She was sure of it.

She tried to put the discussion out of her head as they continued into the mountains, focusing instead on the task before them—ironically, doing as Wynne would have her do.

The signs of Avvar settlement dwindled and faded as they headed deeper into the hills. Elissa consulted her map and took her bearings. The village of Haven should be nearby—if it existed.

 _It must exist,_ she thought. _The people who ambushed the Redcliffe knights at the tavern probably came from there. The mage who impersonated Weylon, too. And Genitivi himself disappeared, perhaps to this town. I hope he is still alive. They may have killed him if he made it there._

She scowled. Genitivi’s decision to seek Haven was his own, and had nothing to do with Arl Eamon, but the fact that so many knights had been murdered _was_ due to Eamon’s condition. She knew it was unfair to cast blame on the arl himself, since it was Isolde who had given the orders. But she also could not get the thought out of her mind that Eamon Guerrin was not exactly the most deserving recipient of Andraste’s blessing. The things that Alistair had told her of his treatment at Redcliffe came back to her. _This is the man who will receive a pinch of the rarest and most valuable substance in all of Thedas, if they exist. A finite substance. He’ll get some of them and then that portion will be gone forever. Why does Eamon Guerrin deserve such a blessing? How many people have died needlessly, and people far more deserving of grace?_

Elissa considered the majesty and holiness of Andraste. The Maker surely could not have intended some part of her body to be used to heal Eamon bloody Guerrin a thousand years later! It was absurd, surreal, almost dark comedy. People could loot the remains of His Bride to distribute to political benefactors and He would not stop it. That this was potentially going to _happen_ looked like evidence that the Maker had indeed turned His gaze from the world.

* * *

Little did Elissa know that Leliana was having similar thoughts. Her mind was filled with memories of people she had loved or cared for, who were now gone: her mother, Lady Cecilie, Tug... _Caitlyn and her family, if they_ _have died_ _,_ she thought. Or Anders, or Elissa’s family, though Leliana had never met them. Any of these people seemed at least equally deserving as Arl Eamon, and some of them were more so. Yet there had been no grace for them.

There was no grace for the thousands who were dying of the plague that was spreading across their land. It cut people down without rhyme or reason, and there was no divine mercy for them. There was no grace for the dutiful soldiers who fought for or against Loghain, or the civilians who took a side based on the information available to them. The civil war was another source of death and division in a time of Blight, and the Maker had not granted His grace to anyone involved in it either.

The Maker had not intervened to spare anyone Leliana had cared for who had died. He had not sent any Grey Wardens or other seekers to their sides to find a pinch of His Prophet’s mortal remains. He was not intervening miraculously to stop the Blight or the civil war. If He was intervening at all, it was indirectly, through His Children—and that was the whole problem, the enigma that Leliana could not solve. Why would He have sent Elissa and her companions to Redcliffe just in time for Arl Eamon? What was so special about him? He was just a nobleman, and, based on how he had allowed Alistair to be treated, not the most virtuous one in Ferelden. The Couslands surely had been better people. Why had the Maker not saved _them?_

She noticed that Elissa’s brow was furrowed in thought. “Are you all right?” she asked her companion.

“I don’t know,” Elissa said. “This mission bothers me in a way. If the Ashes of Andraste exist, and we find them, why should Arl Eamon be so blessed? Why does he deserve this boon from the Maker?”

In spite of the fact that she had been unable to answer this very question for herself, Leliana smiled. There was a certain comfort in knowing that someone else had the same thought. “I was thinking of this very thing,” she said. “There are many others who deserve the Maker’s grace, are there not? Or did deserve to be spared, but were not.”

Elissa cast down her gaze. “Yes,” she said quietly, remembering her family.

Leliana gave her a sympathetic look. “But....” As she spoke, the answer—or at least, what she hoped was the answer, what _felt_ right to her—came to her. “I think... I think this is not _about_ Arl Eamon, and we should not make it so.”

“What do you mean? We’re here because of him.”

“We are, but... it is not for us to decide who is ‘worthy’ of the Maker’s blessing. Perhaps _no one_ truly ‘deserves’ it. But this is not truly about procuring an item for him. That... diminishes Andraste. It reduces her to an object. If these Ashes exist and have the virtue that they are said to have, that is physical evidence that she was a true prophet of the Maker. The Tevinters apparently believe that she was a powerful mage, but even if that were true, no mage’s ashes have ever healed someone on the brink of death. This is not about Arl Eamon. If these Ashes exist and are true, this will have been a journey of faith,” she decided, “for us and for the world.”

Elissa thought about that. It was comforting, she decided. It would add some spiritual sense and justice to a task that otherwise seemed to have none at all. Perhaps Leliana was right.

* * *

The howl of a wolf pierced the air as the small group made its way up a hill. Elissa’s ears perked up. She could not tell if an ordinary wolf or direwolf made the sound, but whichever it was, it was close. She felt a tug deep in her soul at the proximity of the animal. _I will not,_ she thought. _Not here. I will see what this wolf does, if it seeks me out first. I won’t force it._

Their cross-country hiking had now given way to a trail, and not one made by the Avvar. She wondered at it but continued to make her way up the slope, until what had to be the village of Haven came into her sight.

In the next moment, a man stormed into the path, blocking them, bidding them halt.

“What are you doing in Haven? There is nothing for you here.”

Elissa stepped forward. “I am looking for a man named Genitivi, who left notes that he was seeking Haven. We think he might have arrived here.”

The guard’s hostility increased visibly. “I do not know any Genitivi, but perhaps Revered Father Eirik will.”

They all gaped. “Revered _Father?”_ Leliana said. “Your priest is a man?”

“It has always been thus in Haven. We do not question tradition.”

“In Tevinter...” Wynne began to say quietly, but Elissa cut this off, not wanting to offend the guard further.

“Very well. Your traditions are your affair. We’re just seeking Genitivi, because his absence has been noted in our lands. We come in peace.”

“Regardless, we do not appreciate lowlanders looking about our home. You may trade at the shop. Then I suggest that you leave.” He moved his weapons aside to let them pass.

“We should tread carefully here,” Wynne said in a tone too low for the guard to hear, as they walked past. “Something is amiss.”

“I agree,” Leliana said. “This is more than a mere insular community not accustomed to visitors.”

Elissa decided to trust Leliana’s bardic instincts. Something about the town unnerved her too. “We’re going to keep our heads down,” she said, “find Genitivi, and then decide what to do next.” She gave them a pointed look as they approached the main clearing. “No comments to these people about their priest. We’re not an Exalted March.”

“In Tevinter, as I’m sure you both know, the priests are men,” Wynne said quietly, “but the schism that created the Imperial Chantry happened relatively recently in Andrastian history. They have not come south since then to impose it upon us. That this is the custom here too would suggest that, perhaps, these people have held it for a far longer time than the Imperial Chantry has existed.”

“The Tevinter Chantry adopted male priests because the priests of the Old Gods were men,” Elissa agreed, remembering her history lessons at Highever. “That and to stick a finger at the true Divine, I’m sure. But I agree that this could long predate the schism. These people might really have been here since Andraste’s death.”

“Which in itself is hopeful,” Leliana said.

* * *

Being in the village was like walking on eggshells. The shopkeeper was hostile, the townsfolk were hostile, and a child was singing a profoundly sinister and disturbing nursery rhyme that Elissa had never heard of in an ominous-yet-listless tone. As a girl, she had heard certain nursery rhymes that had a dark cast. _When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall—_ and the baby would be broken and bloody dead. Elissa had never sung that one; the words had struck her rather than the rhyme, and they were awful. This was of much the same type.

When she accidentally burst in on a house where a bloodstained altar was visible in a darkened corner, and Oscar growled quietly at it, she had to hurry Leliana and Wynne out before they noticed. Elissa _hoped_ that it was animal blood and that someone had merely appropriated an altar for a butcher’s block, but she had a dark fear that neither was the case. It was one thing for her companions to hold their tongues about witnessing mild heresies; it was quite another for them to keep silent about human sacrifice.

Elissa gathered her companions into a huddle. “I don’t want to spend one minute longer here than we have to,” she said grimly. “We need to find Genitivi—if he is even still alive—and find the rest of his notes if he isn’t. If the Sacred Ashes are around here, we need to get them and _leave._ This is a bad place, and it isn’t because they are unorthodox. The Avvar aren’t Andrastian at all and I did not get this feeling of evil, darkness, _wrongness_ about the hold we stayed in last night.”

Leliana nodded firmly. Wynne was about to cast a ward of protection over the team as they prepared to approach the village chantry—when another lupine howl broke the silence. The sense of kinship that Elissa had felt as the wolf first howled returned to her.

She pushed it away, not wanting to draw an innocent wild creature into this evil place. “Let’s find this chantry.”

* * *

_Finally, some answers._ They had found the village chantry, which, sure enough, was ruled by a male priest—who was also a mage. It was strange and somewhat off-putting to Elissa, and in combination with the bloody altar and feeling of malice in this place, a male mage priest strongly evoked ideas of an ancient priest of the Old Gods, fierce dragons who demanded human sacrifice. _And one of whom I am going to kill to end the Blight,_ she thought. But she swallowed her dislike and fear and tried to talk peaceably with the Revered Father—until he ordered the entire group killed.

It had not gone well for him and his lackeys, however. Elissa, her friends, and her dog were already making short work of the attackers when another burst through the open doors to join them: a wolf. It seemed large to Elissa if it were an ordinary wolf, but she could not be sure in combat. Instead of siding with the villagers, however, it defended her and her friends. She was sure, as the animal rent the throat of an attacker, that this was the wolf that had been howling all along. She had not called it, at least not consciously; it had come to her aid, sensing her danger. _It had been the wolf’s choice,_ she thought, just as Leliana had said that night in the Avvar hold about Faolin.

After the priest and his lackeys lay dead on the floor, she examined the wolf closely and realized that this was not an ordinary wolf. It was a half-grown female direwolf.

“You’re so beautiful,” she told the animal, rubbing her thick fur. “And you helped us. Thank you! But you can go free if you want.”

The wolf merely yipped. Oscar ambled up next to her, barking as if in support. Elissa could not send it away—and a part of her didn’t want to.

And then, Leliana had noticed a secret door in the chantry, which they shoved aside to find a sickly, injured Brother Genitivi—in bad shape, but shockingly enough, alive.

“You don’t know how glad I am to see someone who isn’t from this village,” he groaned.

“Wynne,” Elissa said, noting his injured leg, “can you help him?”

As the mage cast a healing spell at him and bent down to bandage his leg, he continued to talk. “I don’t have time to rest. I’m so close. The urn of Andraste’s Ashes is just up the mountain.”

Elissa’s heart thumped hard. “You know this for certain?”

“I’m certain. I have heard the villagers talking. I know the Urn is there. There is a temple built to protect the Ashes, a very old temple, and I’ve seen Eirik use a certain medallion to gain entry.”

“Eirik is dead,” Elissa said. She sighed. “I didn’t come here to kill anyone, but they attacked us, and now, after seeing what they have done to you, for no cause whatever....” She glowered. “I wish _we_ had attacked _them_ first.”

“It is still better that you don’t have that on your soul,” the scholar said gently. “But if Eirik is dead, we should be able to find the medallion on him.”

“What do you know about these people?” Elissa asked him as Leliana headed to the body to search for the item. “How did they get so... debased?”

He sighed. “I think that they must be descended from the original Disciples of Andraste, who brought her ashes away from Tevinter. But as you say, they have debased themselves. They think they worship Andraste—”

“One should not worship _Andraste,”_ Leliana said as she returned, medallion in hand. “Honor and revere her, yes, but she herself called upon the world to worship the Maker.”

“Well, these people seem to have forgotten that,” Genitivi said. “They only speak of Andraste now. And... I have not been able to prove my suspicions, because I haven’t been able to get into that temple... but there is something I suspect about them that you should know about.” He rummaged through his supplies, withdrawing a book, which he handed to Elissa.

She gazed at the title, menacing and portentous: _Flame and Scale._

* * *

When they entered the temple, Elissa’s dark thoughts momentarily lifted at the sheer grandeur of it. It was truly magnificent, a fitting structure for the resting place of the Prophet’s Ashes. The snow that covered the ground only added to it. The people who had built this had to have honored Andraste, worshiped the Maker, and followed her teachings. This was a holy place.

But, as she quickly discovered, it too was defiled by the murderous villagers—except that these had become something much worse.

* * *

“A dragon cult!” Elissa exclaimed, shocked and angry as Wynne mopped up her wounds and healed her burns. They had had to cut their way through wave after wave of fanatical people, an abnormally high number of them mages, who attacked on sight, not even attempting to parley. Any qualms that Elissa had felt about killing these people quickly vanished. She was being attacked for no reason; she would fight back and defend her life with lethal force. Oscar and the wolf joined in, the wolf having accompanied them up the mountain.

Then they had found their way into a series of tunnels that were populated by a shocking number of dragons. There were eggs, dragonlings, and a handful of drakes—which had put up a serious challenge to the group, and had caused Elissa’s injuries—but there were no fully grown High Dragons here.

And yet there were eggs. The drakes were males; for there to be eggs and young, there had to be a female somewhere. Elissa hoped that it was not a fully grown dragon.

“I suppose Brother Genitivi did warn us,” Leliana muttered darkly. Wynne had already patched her up; she had taken a burn even worse. “Just imagine! Their ancestors brought Andraste’s Ashes here, but now, they worship dragons, as if they were no better than the priests of the Old Gods! They must have bonded with these dragons, to be able to domesticate them like this.”

Elissa glanced at her wolf, which she _was_ starting to think of as “hers” now, defying her own resistance to having another wolf. _I don’t worship wolves,_ she thought, _but is this a similar thing, just with a different animal?_

Leliana, amazingly—or perhaps not so amazingly, considering how well she seemed to understand Elissa—instantly realized what she was thinking. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said feelingly. “Your bond with wolves is not the same at all. And if these people do bond with their dragons to domesticate them, that in itself would not be evil, no? The problem is that they worship them and appear to make sacrifices to them, including of people. That is the evil.”

Elissa managed a smile. The wolf nuzzled her on one side, Oscar on the other.

“They have no faith in the Maker or the true Andraste,” Leliana continued, “so they must worship something that they can see. It is sad. I understand the motive now,” she said quietly, “but it is still sad.”

As they continued into the depths of the temple, Elissa thought about this. Leliana did not seem to be implying that the cultists were evil because they had no faith in the unseen, but she _had_ said that it made her sad.

 _I suppose it is sad,_ Elissa thought. _That... rather describes me now, and it makes me sad too. Even if Leliana has moments of doubt, she never loses her faith. She has it, but I need evidence and proof now. I have... lost my faith that the Maker cares for us, that He still is an active force in what happens in this world. So much evil happens for no reason. Good things happen to bad people. Howe has become the right hand of the Regent because he murdered my family and successfully lied about it. Bad things happen to good people. The Blight cuts down thousands, not making any distinction between the wicked and the righteous. And now, we’re going to loot the Urn of the Prophet in order to take part of her back to an unremarkable Fereldan nobleman._

_No wonder the Maker turned His gaze away from the world after we killed His messenger. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe we deserve everything we get._

_Yet somehow, despite all of this, Leliana still has faith... and I really don’t. It can’t be because of something that happened to me that didn’t happen to her. I lost my family to violence, but she is no stranger to violence herself. She lived a far less privileged life than I have. She has faith still, I guess, because there is something about her, something she has that I lack. One either has the capacity to hold onto faith in terrible circumstances or... doesn’t._

Memories of dialogue and debate with other companions came back to her. Specifically, Morrigan was very vocal about her scorn for faith in the unseen. _“Magic is real. I can touch it and command it and I need no faith for it to fill me up inside. If you are looking for your higher power, there it is.”_ It was a statement that Morrigan too needed sensory evidence to accept something. Elissa wondered if some of her comments were merely provocative, performative cynicism—but not all of them, of that she was sure.

“Copper for your thoughts.”

Elissa looked up quickly at Leliana. “I suppose I _have_ been lost in thought for a while,” she said. “I was just thinking about what you said about needing to see something, not being able to have faith without evidence.” She sighed. “I think I’ve become like that now.”

Leliana gave her a deeply sympathetic look. “I did not mean that there was anything wrong with it,” she said quietly. “I did not mean that you were anything like these dragon cultists in any way that matters. There are priests who make it a moral judgment when someone cannot accept a claim without evidence. I will not do that. There is nothing wrong with it. There is a dark side to anything, and being _too_ eager to accept claims without evidence is a bad thing. But... needing evidence and not finding it does cause pain for you. I said it was sad because of the doubt and accompanying pain.”

Elissa managed a smile. “I understand. And I hope that the Ashes are here. If they are, I won’t worship _them,_ but it will be nice to have a boost to my faith in the form of physical evidence.”

Leliana smiled. “I agree—more than you may realize.”

* * *

Yes, there was a High Dragon.

Elissa and her companions had finally found a cultist who was ostensibly willing to parley—a powerful fighter who gave his name as Kolgrim. He had wanted to know why they had come bearing arms and “slaughtering” them in their temple—as if the cultists had done nothing, rather than attacking the party on sight from the beginning. Yet Elissa had been willing to talk with him if it would stop the bloodshed—until he made the crazed declaration that Andraste, murdered a millennium ago, had “overcome death itself and has returned to her faithful.” This, after _acknowledging_ that the Urn of Sacred Ashes existed.

It was too much for Elissa. She was sick of dragonsblood-drinking cultists attacking her unprovoked. Yes, perhaps this was “their” temple in the sense that they occupied it, and she was a stranger—but what legitimate religion tried to murder people on sight for entering a sanctuary in peace? She was sick of these people’s dragon worship, their human sacrifice. They had _fed people_ to these things. If any knights of Redcliffe had made it here, their fate was all too apparent to Elissa. Genitivi would have met the same fate if they had not arrived in time. “You’re mad,” she exploded. “Andraste is dead.” And thus had ended any chance for peace with the cult.

She had gravely regretted her rash words when they stepped over the bodies of Kolgrim and his followers into the crisp mountain air... and a High Dragon descended upon them.

 _Andraste,_ Elissa thought for a millisecond as the monster landed. _They named this dragon Andraste. That’s what they meant._

For the first time since she had escaped the village, Elissa thought there was a very strong chance that she would indeed die here, as she had darkly told Alistair back in Redcliffe. If this beast smelled Kolgrim’s blood on her—

But it sailed overhead, circling around, landing at a distance. Elissa scanned the peak. The dragon seemed occupied, not interested in them.

 _You just keep your attention on whatever has it right now,_ she thought, panicked. Even with the addition of the direwolf, she just did not have enough allies for this fight. There would need to be an expedition later to deal with it.

She gazed ahead. A smaller cave and enclosure loomed at the end of an exposed walkway. She gulped, thinking about the dragon, but there was no choice. She gathered her energy and began to sprint across the walk.

* * *

After the challenges of combat and the darkness and ugliness of fighting reaver cultists, Elissa could tell that this was _different._ She approached the chamber and instantly felt a spiritual calm come over her. This was a holy place, and unlike the temple, it had not been defiled. She was startled but not exactly _surprised_ when she reached the antechamber and faced a spirit.

“Who are you?” she blurted out.

The spirit regarded her calmly. “I am the Guardian, the protector of the Urn of Sacred Ashes—and I have waited years for this.”

“For... this?”

“It has been my duty, my life, to protect the Urn and prepare the way for the faithful who come to revere Andraste. For years beyond counting have I been here, and shall I remain until my task is done and the Imperium has crumbled into the sea.”

“The Imperium is not nearly as powerful as it once was, and it... acknowledges Andraste, in its way.” She grimaced. Tevinter still practiced slavery, and she suspected that Andraste would regard that as far outweighing the fact that they now believed in the Maker. They had perverted her teachings to continue to accept the evil that she waged war against them to end.

But the spirit did not comment on this. “Ah... is that so? Then perhaps this is the beginning of the end.”

“The dragon,” Elissa began. “It’s not Andraste, is it.” It was not a question.

“No,” the Guardian confirmed. “Our Andraste has gone to the Maker’s side. She will not return. The dragon is a fearsome creature, and they must have seen her as an alternative to the absent Maker and His silent Andraste.”

“So I thought,” Leliana said quietly.

“A true believer would not require audacious displays of power.”

Elissa winced, unable to even look the spirit in the eye. _I am not a true believer, I suppose,_ she thought. _But... I knew that. Or—does he not mean this about people who merely need some evidence? I don’t require an audacious display. But something I can detect with my senses... wouldn’t go amiss._

“When my brethren and I carried Andraste from Tevinter to this sanctuary, we vowed to forever revere her memory, and guard her,” the Guardian continued. “I have watched generations of my brethren take up the mantle of their fathers. For centuries they did this, unwavering, joyful, in their appointed task. But now they have lost their way. They have forgotten Andraste, and their promise. They have forgotten that Andraste was just a messenger. They speak no more of the Maker, only of their false Andraste, an even greater sin.”

“We noticed that in the village,” Elissa said. “We have... pondered a lot of things about faith on this journey.”

“The Ashes are really here,” Leliana breathed. “They are inside the chamber. How can we see them?”

“You have come to honor Andraste, and you shall, if you prove yourself worthy.”

“How do we do that?” Elissa asked.

“The Gauntlet will decide your worthiness. If you are found worthy, you will see the Urn and be allowed to take a small pinch of the Ashes for yourself. If not....” He trailed off.

Elissa shuddered, not needing an elucidation. “I quite comprehend you,” she said. _And how can I be considered worthy, when I don’t even have the pure, true faith that Leliana does, and that Wynne might also have? My dog is probably worthier than I am. Why did I come?_ But she mustered her courage in spite of her terror. “So let’s do this. I am ready to enter the Gauntlet.”

The spirit paused. “Before you go, there is something I must ask each of you. I see that the path that led you here was not easy. There is suffering in your past—your suffering, and the suffering of others.” He regarded her, Leliana, and Wynne in turn. “You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy. Do you think you failed your parents?”

Elissa felt as if the Guardian had stuck his sword into her heart. She gaped, nearly reeling, as her companions protested in outrage. “How _could_ you—” she began before collecting herself. She drew herself up then and glared. “If I had disobeyed my parents, I would have died too. My mother made her choice and it wasn’t for me to deny her that agency. I wish I could have saved them all—but I know that I couldn’t have, and my death would have been in vain.”

“Thank you,” the spirit said. “You do not dwell on the past, then.”

“Do I not?” Elissa muttered under her breath. “Perhaps I _should.”_

But the Guardian had already turned to the others. “Leliana. Why do you say the Maker speaks to you, when all know that the Maker has left? He spoke only to Andraste. Do you believe yourself her equal?”

This was a gut punch for Leliana, who had been brooding over this very subject for weeks. _Did my faith that the Maker had a special message for me get my former lover and her whole family killed?_ She did not know, and she _had_ wondered if she had been too arrogant. It had eaten away at her soul; the news about Anders and about Lothering had halted the progression of her budding relationship with Elissa Cousland. To have her darkest fear, her innermost demon, brought out and displayed before her friends like this....

“I never said that,” she said. “I am not Andraste’s equal and know this.”

“In Orlais, you were _someone._ In Lothering, you feared you would lose yourself, become a drab sister, and disappear. When your brothers and sisters of the cloister criticized you for what you professed, you were hurt, but you also reveled in it. It made you special. You enjoyed the attention, even if it was negative. You also loved the attention that you received for trying to help—”

She interrupted before the spirit could utter Caitlyn’s name. She _would_ tell Elissa about that relationship—she really would—but not like this. “You’re saying that I made it up, or that I helped anyone for selfish reasons? I did not! I know what I believe.”

The Guardian seemed to accept this answer, however. He turned next to Wynne. “You are ever the advisor, ready with a word of wisdom. Do you wonder if you spout only platitudes, burned into your mind in the distant past?”

Wynne looked just as startled as Elissa and Leliana had by their queries. She steeled herself. “There is no sense in hiding, is there? Yes. I do doubt at times. Only a fool is completely certain of himself.”

The Guardian accepted this as well. “The way is open. Good luck, and may you find what you seek.”

* * *

They found themselves inside a vast stone chamber. It was of an ancient style, with pillars, statuary, and urns—though obviously not the one with Andraste’s remains—lining the walls. As their eyes adjusted to the dimness, Elissa noticed that near each arched pillar stood another spirit. She counted; there seemed to be eight in all.

“Stop,” commanded the first one. “You must answer our questions before you may pass.”

She had been taught that spirits were not necessarily trustworthy, but then... this was a holy place, she supposed. This was different. The Disciples of Andraste would not have allowed evil spirits to occupy this place. Steeling herself, she approached one of the figures as her companions drew near others.

* * *

Wynne faced a maternal, feminine spirit. “Echoes from a shadow realm, whispers of things yet to come. Thought’s strange sister dwells in night, is swept away by dawning light.” The spirit’s voice was profoundly sorrowful. “Of what do I speak?”

Wynne did not have a particular talent for riddles, but she was a mage, at home in the Fade, and she knew this one like the back of her hand. “Dreams,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” said the spirit. “A dream came upon me, as my daughter slumbered beneath my heart. It told of her life, and of her betrayal and death. I am Brona, mother of Andraste. I am sorrow and regret. I am a mother weeping bitter tears for a daughter she could not save.”

With that, she vanished. Wynne felt distinctly uncomfortable. She was a mother too. Her companions did not know it, but she was. The fact that the Circle had taken Rhys away from her could never change it. _I lost my son._ _He was taken from my arms. I knew it would happen as soon as I felt him moving in my womb, and I could not save him from that fate._

* * *

Leliana faced a sweet young woman spirit. “The smallest lark could carry it, while a strong man might not. Of what do I speak?”

This was easy, and Leliana felt that it had been made for her. “A tune,” she said, smiling at the thought of her lute and her songs.

“Yes. I am Ealisay, Andraste’s dearest friend in childhood, and always we would sing. She celebrated the beauty of life, and all who heard her would be filled with joy. They say the Maker Himself was moved by Andraste’s song, and then she sang no more of simple things.”

As the spirit vanished, Leliana felt her heart darken. Were her days of being carefree behind her—and did she mourn them? Was the Guardian right about her? _Who am I, the bard or the holy sister?_

* * *

Elissa faced an elven spirit, who gazed seriously back at her. “I’d neither a guest nor a trespasser be; in this place I belong, that belongs also to me. Of what do I speak?”

She felt pained again. Howe had been a guest _and_ a trespasser in her—“Home,” she answered dully.

The spirit inclined his head. “I am Shartan. It was my dream for my people to have a home of their own, where we would have no masters but ourselves. We followed Andraste against the Imperium. But she was betrayed, and so were we.” He disappeared in a mist.

 _And so was I,_ Elissa thought wretchedly. _Highever is not my home anymore. Can it ever be again, now that I have those memories of death and carnage? I was betrayed in my home. Will I ever have a home again?_

* * *

Wynne had managed to move on to another spirit, a well-dressed human man. “The bones of the world stretch towards the sky’s embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. Of what do I speak?”

Wynne wondered if this was a true riddle. The answer she was going to give seemed a bit too obvious, and she readied a spell within in case she had to defend herself. “The mountains?”

“Indeed. I was Havard, Disciple of Andraste. I carried Andraste’s Ashes out of Tevinter into the mountains where she could gaze ever into Her Maker’s sky. No more fitting a tomb than this could we find.”

Wynne didn’t know what to think, as he vanished. She also knew about living in the embrace of the sky—though, she supposed, so many of her fellows in the Tower knew as little of the sky as the inanimate Ashes now did. Was the Tower a tomb of sorts too?

* * *

Elissa had recovered herself enough to face a spirit who looked rather smug. “No man has seen it but all men know it,” it said proudly. “Lighter than air, sharper than any sword. Comes from nothing, but will fell the strongest armies. Of what do I speak?”

This was a stumper for Elissa at first. She at first wanted to guess “disease,” but something told her that that wasn’t the right answer. Disease did not come from _nothing,_ after all—it came from infection and decay. And then, the answer hit her. “Hunger,” she said. _Of course that was hard_ _for me_ _. I’m a noble._ She felt vaguely ashamed.

“Yes. Hunger was the weapon used against the wicked men of the Tevinter Imperium. The Maker kindled the sun’s flame, scorching the land. Their crops failed, and their armies could not march. Then He opened the heavens and bade the waters flow, and washed away their filth. I am Cathaire, disciple of Andraste and commander of her armies. I saw these things done, and knew the Maker smiled on us.” He smirked, then vanished.

Elissa reflected uncomfortably on this. Andraste had marched following the First Blight, which had laid waste to Tevinter and created an opening for an army of barbarians. Could this be the Maker’s punishment? _And if it was... then what is this Blight? But how could the Maker_ _do that to us?_ _I’d rather He turned His gaze away completely than use the Blight to punish us._

She didn’t know what to think. This was not what she wanted to believe.

* * *

Leliana gazed at a harsh female spirit in ancient Tevinter clothing. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth,” the spirit said. “The debt of blood must be paid in full. Of what do I speak?”

A strange, dark feeling came over Leliana as the answer came to her. “Vengeance,” she said quietly.

“Yes,” the spirit confirmed. “I am Vasilia. My husband, Hessarian, would have chosen a quick death for Andraste. I made him swear that she would die publicly, with her war leaders, that all would know the Imperium’s strength.” She regarded Leliana sharply. “I am justice. I am vengeance. Blood can only be repaid in blood.” With that, she disappeared.

Leliana stood, gaping. What was this spirit doing in such a holy place? Had she converted after Andraste’s death, beside her husband? And if she had, why was she presenting _this_ message? Leliana could not explain why she felt so, but she was struck with an overwhelming sense that this encounter related both to Marjolaine and to Caitlyn Hawke, though in different ways.

_Marjolaine attacked me. I know I must bring justice to her. But what have justice and vengeance to do with Caitlyn? Is she dead and someone must take them for her? Or is she alive and they will feature prominently in her life?_

She had no answers, just a sense of vague but dark foreboding.

* * *

Elissa knew exactly what spirit she was looking at: A tall, proud warlord in this place could have only one identity. “A poison of the soul, passion’s cruel counterpart; from love she grows, till love lies slain. Of what do I speak?”

 _Maferath the Betrayer,_ Elissa thought—and that told her the answer. “Jealousy,” she replied.

“Yes, jealousy drove me to betrayal. I was the greatest general of the Alamarri, but beside her I was nothing. Hundreds fell before her on bended knee. They loved her, as did the Maker. I loved her too, but what man can compare with a god?” He gazed at her, then disappeared.

Elissa was discomfited by this, and she sneaked a glance at Leliana, who was moving to the final remaining spirit in the hall. _I don’t feel jealous of anyone. Leliana doesn’t care about Marjolaine anymore, and she has not taken a vow of celibacy to the Maker. Why was that meant for me? Is it... something that I will feel in the future, perhaps?_ The worry entered her heart at once, but she tried to steel herself and recall the lesson that had just been imparted to her. _I will keep this in mind when I need it, then._

* * *

Leliana faced the last spirit, a lord of noble bearing. “She wields the broken sword, and separates true kings from tyrants. Of what do I speak?”

Thoughts of Mother Dorothea entered her mind unbidden—and then, as a sharp contrast, the riddle that the spirit of Vasilia had given her. That put the solution into her head. “Mercy,” she said.

“Yes. I was Archon Hessarian. I could not bear the sight of Andraste’s suffering, and mercy bade me end her life. I am the penitent sinner, who shows compassion as he hopes compassion will be shown to him.” He gazed into Leliana’s eyes, into what seemed like her very soul, before disappearing.

 _That is the truth,_ she thought, tears filling her blue eyes as emotion overcame her. _The penitent sinner shown compassion. I have done my best to show it to others, to do good to try to make up for the harm I did in my earlier life. I must not dwell on what I used to be. I have to move forward on the path that the Maker has laid out for me._

She looked around, realizing that the spirits had disappeared. Their path was clear. The dog and wolf, who had not been troubled by any riddles, bounded forward to reunite with Elissa, as the three humans huddled together again, each of them struck silent with the weight of what they had just heard.

* * *

Leliana wanted to talk to Elissa about what she had experienced, but when she tugged at her sleeve, Elissa shook her head, unable to speak of it yet. All of her riddles had been dark, sad, or ominous. They had not helped her to regain her faith, and she was wondering what the point of this was. _Do we have to hit rock bottom before we can begin to climb?_ she wondered. She hated avoiding Leliana, but she just wasn’t ready to talk about this now.

Leliana seemed to understand after a second, at least.

They passed through the hall into... a chamber with a gaping pit in the center and no clear way across to the other side. There were two arcs of paving stones on each side of the circular pit, but they did not connect to the exit, leaving a massive gap that would be dangerous to attempt to jump.

Elissa frowned. There had to be a way across this. She stepped onto one of the stones at the edge and nearly gasped aloud as a ghostly section of a bridge formed, beginning to extend across the pit. It was not solid, and it did not span the whole pit, but it seemed clear that there was some sort of enchantment laid here that would cause it to form with the correct footwork.

She stifled a groan. What manner of nonsense _was_ this? What spiritual benefit was there to this? It seemed ridiculous, and she hated that they would have to take any time to solve such a thing—

The direwolf suddenly fled her side, dashing along one arc near the pit. “No!” Elissa called out, horrified, as the animal reached the end. Her heart seemed to jump into her throat, and she could not even bear to look as the beautiful creature leaped into the air, making for the other side, the entrance to the next chamber. She covered her eyes, sure that the wolf would come up short and fall to her death in the black chasm below.

It did not happen. Instead the wolf’s paws landed gracefully on the other side, making a jump that no human could. When the wolf landed, the full bridge formed by magic, solid as the rock that it was.

In the next moment, Oscar bounded across the bridge, barking joyfully, even as Elissa tried to stop him, still not trusting the bridge. She halted at the edge as the dog reached the other side. He stood by the wolf, barking, tail wagging, as the wolf joined in. Elissa stared back at the canines, thinking.

“This is not how it should have been,” Leliana said, sounding distressed. “We were supposed to have solved it....”

“I worry about trusting my weight to the bridge, given that _that_ is how it formed,” Wynne added warily.

But as she gazed across at the dog and wolf, Elissa’s thoughts suddenly brightened. The truth hit her like a beam of sunlight. “No,” she said, smiling, “it’s all right. I trust them. I don’t believe that those who serve Andraste would allow this to happen, someone’s loyal animal companion creating the bridge, if they meant it as a trap. Animals are better than we are. You saw that the Guardian didn’t need to question what was in their souls. I... have faith.” _Faith in my dog, faith in... my... wolf, and faith that they understand what this place is and want us to be in Andraste’s presence._ She took the first brave step onto the bridge, and when it did not vanish before her feet, she burst into a smile and dashed after the dog and wolf, positively beaming when she reached the end.

 _My wolf,_ she thought, realizing it as she petted them. _You came here for this moment, didn’t you? You came here to show me what faith can mean, to trust my heart. The Maker sent you to me._ This idea, which she could not prove for one moment but also could not doubt—this _faith—_ filled her with joy.

What she found in the next room wiped the joy from her thoughts. She turned back sharply, but Leliana and Wynne had somehow vanished, and so had the dog and wolf.

* * *

Wynne had reluctantly crossed the bridge, her confidence growing as she stepped across—but once she reached the end, she found herself suddenly and unaccountably alone. It was as if everyone around her had disappeared. Then she saw someone new, someone she did not know—and yet also did.

“Mother.”

She glanced around wildly, but she was still alone. No one had heard. Nervously she faced the person, a handsome young mage. _Rhys._

“That is what you are,” he said. “Does the word hurt?”

Wynne closed her eyes miserably. “I birthed you,” she said quietly. “But I could not be a mother to you.” She covered her face. “Why are you here? What _are_ you? You cannot truly be Rhys.”

He softened. “I am here because you needed to see me... Mother. You have regrets related to me.” He gazed at her. “You tell the Grey Warden that she must do her duty, but in truth, you are telling _yourself_ that. You have told yourself that ever since you gave birth to me, that you had to do your duty and accept your lot in life.”

“I had no choice but to give you up.”

“Did you not? My father was a Templar. Do you ever regret that you did not ask him to steal your phylactery while you were pregnant and run away with you? Start a family?”

Wynne closed her eyes. “Yes,” she finally confessed. “There are times when I regret that I did not do that. But I was afraid. The Circle had been home to me, Rhys. It had been shelter. The Templars had never terrorized me; they were guardians and protectors. It was other people I feared, people who hated mages—who hated _me._ I chose safety over that terrifying unknown. I gave you up, and your father... and yes, sometimes I have regretted it. But... the life I have led since then has not been a terrible one either. I do not know what I would do if I had to make the choice again. I am sorry... my son.”

But he seemed just to want her to acknowledge the fact of their relationship, and once she had, he smiled. “Your life is not nearly as close to its end as you think it is. You may meet me in the flesh before you go to the Maker. Use your time well... Mother.” With that, he vanished, leaving Wynne standing alone in deep contemplation.

* * *

Leliana could not believe the sight before her. A very familiar, beautiful, red-haired mage stood before her, smiling knowingly. “Leliana,” said the figure that looked exactly like Caitlyn Hawke.

“This is not you,” Leliana whispered. “It cannot be. This is a vision.”

“It’s me, and not me,” Caitlyn said. She gazed loftily at Leliana. “I am here because you have unfinished business with me.”

“Are you... with the Maker? Is that how you have appeared here?”

Caitlyn smiled enigmatically. “The Maker is with everyone, I thought you believed. I am all right, and I will _be_ all right.”

“That is no answer at all,” Leliana protested. “Please, I have to know. I need to know to have peace. Are you alive in this world, or with the Maker?”

Caitlyn sighed sadly. “You have to let me go, Leliana,” she said. “Your time with me is over. You know this.”

“Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it would do you no good,” she said bluntly—oh, how blunt she always was, Leliana thought. This was just like her. “Suppose that I am with the Maker. You’ll blame yourself; guilt will consume you, keep you from fighting the Blight or looking at _someone else.”_ She gazed pointedly at Leliana. “Or suppose that I am alive still. You will obsess over finding me and giving me your news from Kinloch Hold. Let’s just say that would be a mistake.” She gave Leliana an arch look, as if privy to something unknown to Leliana. “You have to let me go, and the only way is to accept _not knowing.”_

“I only wanted to help you. I only wanted you to heal, to know love again.”

The figure of Caitlyn softened and smiled. “I know. And you did. But you cannot help me now. You _must_ accept that. Even if the Maker sent you a vision, even if He has a plan for you that He allowed you to glimpse, He is _not_ giving you instructions about how to fix everyone else’s life. You must let me go... and look ahead to your own future. Your path. Your new love.”

Her heart thumped at Caitlyn’s reference to Elissa—and she felt the truth of the figure’s advice, but there was still something bothering her. “I can accept not knowing what happened to you... for now,” she said, “but... not forever. You meant something to me. I cannot just forget that. Will I know someday?”

Caitlyn smiled. “You will. But it will only be when you have made peace with this part of the past.” She gazed ahead. “You have to start now.”

“I will,” Leliana whispered hoarsely. It broke her heart, but she saw the truth in these words.

* * *

Elissa felt heaviness and yet lightness in her heart as she faced the image of her father.

“My dearest child,” said Bryce Cousland. Love filled his face.

Elissa gazed back at him, swallowing a lump. “I wish it were not so, but I know that you died. If this is really you, you were sent here briefly from the Maker’s side, and you won’t remain.”

Bryce nodded. “You know that I am gone, and all your prayers and wishes will not bring me back.”

“They won’t,” Elissa whispered. Tears came to her eyes.

“I see the pain and anger you carry,” he began.

She looked up sharply, tears suddenly streaming. “You do? Of... of course you do,” she choked. “This is a spiritual place. But... I wish you hadn’t. It’s so dark now. _I_ am so dark.”

“You are my daughter,” he said firmly. “I regret to see you suffer, but I would never judge you for this darkness, anger, and doubt. Dark things happened and you lived through them. You must carry these memories through the rest of your life, in all the confusion and uncertainty of this world. You carry a heavy burden. I know you fear to give it voice, but rest assured, my child, the Maker knows your heart.”

Elissa stared silently at him, cheeks dampening.

“You can do great things,” he said. “You can be a hero. You know this. You can know true love. You know that too. You must face what you have long denied yourself. You have begun to do this, but you cannot stop now.”

“I know,” Elissa said quietly. “I understand.”

“Now go, and carry with you our love and forgiveness, pup.” With that, he vanished.

All three companions suddenly realized that they could see each other again. Ahead of them, the Ashes awaited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The riddle talk is almost direct from the game, and yeah I included all of them, but all of them seemed significant to this specific party to me.
> 
> The animal accidentally phasing across and forming the bridge that way is a glitch, but I personally find the puzzles like this tiresome and flow-breaking in gameplay, let alone a story, so I went with it instead and expanded the “faith” theme for it, in keeping with the overall theme of this chapter.
> 
> I hope nobody minds too much that Leliana did not see Marjolaine. I’ve got other things planned with Marjolaine later. As for Wynne, I would not think well of her if she saw an apprentice rather than her own son under these circumstances. She has unfinished business with both of them, but I prefer to think the bond of parent and child would take precedence in a spiritual reckoning even if she believes the apprentice is dead.


	17. Nightingale and Direwolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I can write chapters that aren’t 10,000 words long. This one is VERY NSFW at the end!
> 
> One random thing: If they were going to pick up Shale, this would’ve been the time to do it, due to the location of Honnleath. The game devs don’t have to worry about travel time and distance, but I do! However, I don’t see that Shale’s misanthropic commentary would be a good addition to this specific story, and it’s a separate trip to get her, with no other goal they could achieve. I can’t justify that given how I’ve established that Elissa doesn’t want to waste time or risk herself on digressions. However, there’s a brief mention close to the end of my _Spells of Healing_ (mid-Dragon 9:32) of the trip to Honnleath, and I prefer not to edit the substance/content of completed stories. So here’s the deal. Elissa will get her out of Honnleath eventually. But I think it’ll be after this story has concluded. No reason why she can’t wait. In my Elissa playthrough I took Shale to Orzammar, but again, that’s not super important. Elissa will have her own reasons for her decisions there.

Elissa gazed upon the open urn. The Ashes of Andraste lay before her, the heat that they somehow still retained warming the air itself. It was a warmth that went straight to Elissa’s soul, a warmth that she had needed without even quite realizing how much—until now.

The meeting with the vision of her father had not been the final challenge. She and her companions had had to fight doubles of themselves, glamours that seemed to manifest their own darkest aspects. It was clear enough what the point was—to defeat their dark sides—but that did not make it less unsettling.

Elissa had been very disturbed at first upon seeing that figure, its eyes devoid of any warmth or empathy, just anger and an amoral, cynical determination to do whatever it took to win. _Is that really what I could be_ _come_ _?_ she had thought for one brief moment—before the glamour had attacked not Elissa herself, but Leliana, the real Leliana, aiming directly at the scar on her chest where Marjolaine had knifed her. Of course, that would be a sore old wound, and lunging at her _there_ would provoke traumatic-memory shock that would hurt her fighting capacity. It was logical—and absolutely depraved. And that, an act of personal cruelty directed at Leliana, was what it took to enrage Elissa enough to defeat the evil double of herself.

Leliana and Wynne had also had evil doubles—the dog and wolf, Elissa noted, quickly dispatched their own, further confirming to her that animals were purer at heart than people—and Elissa supposed that that experience was just as meaningful to them as it was to herself.

The final test before they had been allowed to see the Ashes was to disrobe and walk through a ferocious fire. They had made it through unburnt. It momentarily crossed Elissa’s mind that this was the first time she had seen Leliana nude, but in this moment, there was nothing sexual about it. They all had nothing but their Maker-created skin, a sacred rather than an erotic act.

Now, of course, they were dressed again; the moment of faith ended and the worldly reality of nudity took over again when the fire vanished, and it seemed inappropriate to peer at the mortal remains of Andraste while naked.

But at last, they were in her holy presence.

As a girl, Elissa had been a devout Andrastian, wanting to do right and be faithful. She had even worried about such things as whether it was all right to consider that Andraste might have had a mabari. She smiled at that memory. _I do not know if she did, but the temple of her ashes is welcoming enough to a mabari and a wolf! Andraste must have valued companion animals._

As she grew older and sad events began to happen to her, her faith had transformed from the eager faith of a child who admired cheerful pictures in her illustrated Chant of Light, to a faith spotted with weariness and cynicism about the world. It had taken a turn darker still this year. The traumas of Howe’s betrayal, Ostagar, the Circle, and Redcliffe had begun to mold her into a woman who no longer believed that the Maker cared two coppers about His Children.

She still did not have an answer for why terrible things happened. A terrible thing had happened to Andraste herself, after all, Elissa thought as she gazed upon the Ashes. The Gauntlet did not attempt to explain why. Elissa supposed that the “free will” explanation—that complexity and the freedom to choose were the Maker’s gifts to His Second Children, and conscience, virtue, and even repentance meant nothing if evil choices did not exist too—made as much sense as she could ask for.

 _That means that our deeds in life matter,_ she thought, considering this. _We were given a choice so that we could understand what it meant to make the right ones. We need to understand so that we can grow. The spirits, the First Children, are formed in a perfect state and can only fall, become demons, if they are forced to act against their nature. We are not like that. We can face the reality of evil and grow from it. What we do matters. And if we do wrong and others suffer for it, the Maker weeps for their suffering too._

_Leliana is right. The Maker has not turned His gaze from us. My father told me himself. The Maker knows my heart._

Tears of emotion formed in her gray-blue eyes and silently trickled down her cheeks.

_And that means He has taken care of the ones I lost. It means He’s taking care of me. I do not know if the Blight is His punishment for sin as hunger and famine were the punishment for Tevinter that Andraste’s armies took advantage of, but whether it is or not, He doesn’t intend the Blight to last forever. We are His Children. We must defeat it. I must defeat it. And I shall._

She gazed at her companions and noticed that they were not crying, but they bore no amusement, judgment, or pity for Elissa for the fact that she had. Their expressions were just as awed and humbled even without tears. The dog and wolf stood back, observing the humans silently.

They seemed all to come to an agreement that it was time to gather a pinch of ashes and respectfully depart. Elissa withdrew a pouch that she had brought for this purpose and retrieved a tiny pinch, not wanting to deplete the remains of Andraste too greatly.

 _Will they be safe here?_ she wondered as they silently, reverently turned away. _The Gauntlet lets anyone in who is worthy, yet there is a finite amount of Sacred Ashes. Perhaps something should be done...._

But those thoughts were quickly erased from her mind as they stepped outside and saw the shadow of the dragon.

* * *

“Brother Genitivi, by all means write up your account,” Elissa said, feeling a pang of regret for the fact that she quickly had to take up practical matters when they entered the snowy temple. “But there is a _High Dragon_ here. No one can safely come and go from this place while it remains.”

“Are you sure that we shouldn’t try to defeat it?” Leliana asked innocently. “It would clear the path for pilgrims. Andraste belongs to all the world.”

“I think maybe we _shouldn’t_ clear the path for pilgrims just yet,” Elissa said. “The Gauntlet will let anyone through that it deems worthy and allows them to take ashes away. The Ashes need to be closely observed by living people. That way there could be pilgrims to see Andraste’s remains without... well, without more people like _us,”_ she concluded with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“This was a journey of faith,” Leliana said.

Elissa paused and gave her a sincere smile. “Yes, it was. And I feel renewed in mine.”

“I’m so glad!”

“But we also took a pinch of Ashes away. That’s what I meant by ‘people like us.’” The smile faded. “For now, the dragon is an additional guard, I suppose. Besides, I’m still a Grey Warden, and I have a great task ahead of me. The dragon wasn’t interested in us, so it would be a dereliction of that duty to pick an unnecessary fight with it that could easily get us all killed.” She gave them a wry look. “I have to be alive to fight a different, Blighted dragon that is _very_ interested in everyone.”

“Oh, very well,” grumbled the scholar as he rejoined them. “I suppose the Chantry itself will send an expedition to deal with it if they take this account seriously.”

* * *

Genitivi joined them, as he was not getting anywhere on his own. Redcliffe was the closest settlement of any size and the services of a Healer would be of immeasurable benefit to his lame leg. He and Wynne formed a pair and spent a great deal of the return trip talking about books that they had read. Elissa made note of the fact that Wynne was such a bookworm; she’d picked up a couple of interesting-looking tomes here and there but hadn’t had the chance to open them herself. Perhaps she should give them to the mage instead.

But this freed Elissa to talk with Leliana.

“I thought about what you said,” Leliana said quietly as they passed Haven. “I think you are right about protecting the Ashes. Perhaps I should tell my priest, Mother Dorothea, about this. She could make a private pilgrimage and preserve the remaining part.”

“Don’t put her in danger of dragonfire,” Elissa exclaimed, “but... maybe you, she, and Genitivi should plan this out.”

Leliana nodded. “It must be done carefully. The world has a right to know of this find, but it would be a terrible wrong if our good intentions resulted in the loss of the Ashes.”

Elissa agreed with a silent nod.

They walked on silently for a while before Leliana spoke again. “There was a moment, in the Gauntlet, just before we had to fight our dark doubles, when I... spoke with a vision of someone. Was it like that for you?”

The memory of her father flooded her suddenly, and with it, a rush of emotion. Her voice was husky as she replied. “It was,” she said. “I saw a vision of....” She stopped abruptly as a lump filled her throat.

“You do not have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Leliana said gently.

Elissa swallowed. “No. I need to talk about it now. I saw... my father.”

Leliana moved close to her and took her hand in her own, rubbing Elissa’s fingers in gentle circles. “It sounded like him?”

“It sounded just like him,” Elissa said. She blinked away tears. “I wonder if, somehow, it _really was_ my father, sent from the heavens beyond the Fade. I don’t suppose I’ll ever know in life. But... it sounded just like him. It was... very comforting.”

Leliana smiled.

Elissa took a breath. “He told me that he understood how I felt, the pain and anger that I carried, and that... the Maker did too. When I gazed upon the Ashes, I understood what that meant, truly. He never turned His gaze from us. He does care about us. My father told me so, in his way. And... he, my father, told me that he loved me and forgave me. Not that he _blamed_ me, of course, but... I think he told me that in case I needed to hear it. Which I did.”

Leliana squeezed her hand.

“And he told me that... I could be a hero... and... other things.” Suddenly Elissa did not want to tell Leliana that her father had said she could know true love. It almost felt like a jinx to say it. “I’m just... glad that I got to see him like that, healthy and whole, not dying. That was the last I saw of him in Highever, covered in his own blood. That was my last memory. I’m so glad to see him as he was supposed to be one last time.”

“I’m glad that you did as well,” Leliana said. “Tell me... did he say anything about your brother?”

“No,” Elissa said, “and I didn’t ask. I don’t think he would have told me if I had. I think I’m meant to fight the Blight and accept that I can’t help Fergus, if he is alive.”

This was very significant to Leliana in consideration of her own vision. Elissa was darker and sadder than Leliana herself, but that made it easier for her to accept when she could not do anything, even for someone she loved.

“Whom did you see?” Elissa finally asked.

“I saw someone that... I had cared for very much.”

“Marjolaine?”

“No, not her. Another woman, another former partner. Someone that I too believed I might have failed, with whom I had unfinished business.”

“How do you think you failed her?” Elissa asked curiously. This was the first she had heard of this. She supposed that it was to be expected that Leliana had had other relationships that meant something to her in addition to the one with Marjolaine. She herself had, after all, and had barely told Leliana anything about them. Talking about one’s past relationships was often awkward when getting to know a new potential partner. She didn’t want to talk about them and she found that the other person often didn’t want to hear about them. She supposed it was different with regard to Marjolaine because that one had ended in violence and avowed enmity rather than a normal breakup. Leliana would have no fond feelings left for Marjolaine—but this other person, whom she saw in the Gauntlet, was apparently different.

Meanwhile, Leliana was unsure how to even begin to answer that. At this point, she thought that telling Elissa the whole sad story would merely distract her from the task that the vision of Caitlyn had set her to do, to _let her go._ She also thought that Elissa might have a disgruntled reaction to being told the real reason for her inquiry at the Circle, the meaning of her emotional breakdown upon hearing the fate of Lothering, all of it, _after_ the fact, and after she had deflected Elissa’s questions with half-truths. Best to put it in the past indeed.

“I made her a promise that I was unable to keep,” she said simply. “I did not cheat on her or anything of that sort. I made this promise as I ended our relationship, in fact. We had had difficulties toward the last due to a situation that was causing pain for her, and although it was over between us, I promised that I would find... something... for her that I believed would help her recover. But I could not fulfill my word.”

“Did she die of this... problem, then?” Elissa said quietly.

“I do not know if she is dead or alive,” Leliana admitted. “And the vision of her told me that I _was not_ to know that, at least for some time. She told me that I had to let the past go.”

“To forgive yourself,” Elissa said, thinking of her own vision.

“Yes,” Leliana said, nodding thoughtfully. “To forgive myself for this failure and to accept that I cannot fix everything for everyone.”

Elissa raised her eyebrows. “‘Fix everything for everyone.’ Does that relate to what the Guardian said to you about having visions from the Maker?”

“I think so,” Leliana said humbly. “I....” She gathered her thoughts. “One of the riddles we faced in the outer hall of the Gauntlet had as its answer ‘mercy,’ ‘compassion for the penitent sinner.’ It seemed meant for me. All of the riddles I answered seemed meant for me.”

“The ones I answered did too,” Elissa said, “though the answers were all uncomfortable. I suppose it was the same for Wynne.”

“I think they were supposed to be. They all made me think, reflect, reconsider. When I first joined the Chantry, I _was_ a penitent sinner. I wanted nothing more to do with being a bard. But my priest, Mother Dorothea, told me that the Maker gave us talents and that, like magic, like skill at arms, many of the talents bards use are only evil if they are used for evil ends. And I admit, once the shock of Marjolaine’s betrayal faded, I found myself missing some parts of that life. So I thought about Mother Dorothea’s advice and decided—I do not even know if it was a conscious decision,” she said, shaking her head.

“I understand the sort of thing you mean,” Elissa said with a smile. She squeezed Leliana’s hand back, returning the gesture that Leliana had made several times when she was talking about her father.

“Well,” Leliana continued, more relaxed, “I thought that I needed to use my bardic talents for good purposes instead of evil ones. I thought—though this was _definitely_ not a conscious thought—that, in a sense, I could be ‘a bard for the Maker,’ that I would steer and... well... manipulate the lives of people around me for the Maker’s ends, good ends.” She sighed in shame. “It was presumptuous. I did not consider myself an equal of Andraste, but the Guardian was not entirely wrong about me.”

Elissa was confused at the timeline. She had assumed that the woman in Leliana’s vision had been before Marjolaine, since she had joined the Chantry immediately after that rupture, but Leliana almost seemed to be implying that this “steering people’s lives for the Maker’s ends” coincided with her failed promise to that lady. Or had the woman merely advised her to “accept that she could not fix everything” because that was what Leliana needed to hear, and her reason for making the original promise had had nothing to do with the Maker?

Elissa set it aside. It was the latter, surely. Her vision of her father had known her heart, and a lot about her current situation, though none of that information had passed between them in life. _In any case,_ she thought, _it doesn’t matter. Leliana_ _is moving forward just as I am._

She didn’t get the chance to reflect much more on this in any case, because a band of darkspawn jumped into the path to attack.

* * *

“Well— _that_ was a lot to take in!” Elissa remarked to Leliana privately as the small group settled down for the night, making camp.

“Indeed,” Leliana agreed, “but I agree with you. It is a very... interesting subject.”

When the darkspawn attacked them, Wynne had nearly been overwhelmed trying to protect the defenseless scholar. She had tumbled to the ground, but only for a moment, rising up in a magical rush and fighting vigorously.

After the darkspawn were defeated, she confessed to them that, in fact, this was a spirit—she believed it was a Spirit of Faith—and that it was possessing her. It had saved her life once before, and Wynne believed that this spirit was the only thing keeping her alive. If it left her body, she would die.

Elissa didn’t see a special issue with _that—_ any of them could die suddenly if they took a wound to the wrong place—but she did find the idea that she was traveling with an abomination to be a little hard to take in.

She brought her thoughts back to the present, chastising herself for using that word even in her thoughts. “We’re all brought up to think that there is no way that can possibly end other than badly, and I’m sure that’s drilled into Circle mages even more so,” Elissa said. “And yet... it’s as I told her. She is herself. This spirit isn’t turning her into one of those things that we all saw and fought in the Circle. How can that word, you know the one, apply to _her?”_

“I do not think it does either. Perhaps it is because good spirits seek different things than demons do,” Leliana suggested. “Demons try to trick or force possession. This spirit truly wanted to help Wynne. And she was already a Spirit Healer. It could have been the same one she always worked with in her healing. It might have already had a lesser bond with her. It might already be a little more complex from having known her, if that’s the case.”

“There could be degrees of spirits too,” Elissa mused. “Not just pure good and evil. Not all _virtues_ are equally pure and harmless!” _Like du_ _tifulness, for one,_ she thought guiltily. “A Spirit of Faith would be a very good one, though.”

“I think we can agree on that, after the experience of faith that we had.”

Elissa smiled. Yes, this was just what they had needed. And now, after talking about the spirit, Wynne had also told the women whom she had seen in her vision: her estranged mage son. He was still alive, according to Wynne, and he had apparently confirmed that in the vision. That made Elissa wonder if she had actually spoken with her father’s departed soul, or just a manifestation of her own thoughts, but perhaps it could work differently if the person the pilgrim needed to see was dead or alive. She found that she didn’t need to know exactly which it had been. _W_ _hat matters is w_ _e all faced people that we believed we had failed,_ she thought. _That was the purpose of the vision, to_ _face our failures and losses,_ _accept their forgiveness, and forgive ourselves._

Leliana had been stricken for a moment as Wynne told them of this, how she had had a forbidden relationship with a Templar as a younger woman and borne a child from it, who had been taken from her arms after his birth. _Like_ _Caitlyn,_ _but with a Templar_ _,_ she had thought—but quickly banished it. If they lived, that had _not_ happened to _her_ son. He had lost his father, but he still had his mother. Alternatively, the whole family was with the Maker now. And as she had understood in the Gauntlet, there was nothing that she, Leliana, could do for them now. Her regrets did not help them. But it was still a terrible wrong that Wynne had been forced to make this choice.

 _Later,_ Leliana told herself. There was much wrong with the world, but for now, she needed to focus on one specific wrong: the Blight. Making anything else right depended on defeating this plague first. She gazed at the dark-haired young rogue next to her and smiled. Pursuing a relationship with her depended on defeating the Archdemon’s menace, too.

Elissa was preparing to lie down on her bedroll when the dog and wolf approached, plopping down on either side of her and Leliana. _I should name the wolf,_ she thought, gazing suddenly at the beautiful animal. As the thought crossed her mind, she realized what it meant. _I am keeping her with me. I am not sending her away. I’m going to be a ranger again._

“Líadan.”

The direwolf gazed at her with its intelligent eyes and blinked.

“What’s that?”

Elissa turned to Leliana. “I’m keeping this wolf with me, and her name is Líadan. ‘Grey lady’ in Old Alamarri.”

The wolf gave a low, quiet, brief howl of approval, almost like speech rather than a howl.

Leliana’s eyes sparkled. “I am so glad that you are. And she is indeed a grey lady, isn’t she?” She smiled at the direwolf. “What happens, I wonder, if a direwolf mates with a mabari?”

“I have no idea,” Elissa laughed. “We try not to crossbreed the mabari with anything else, so as not to dilute the purebred traits. But direwolves are big, strong, and intelligent, too. Clearly, they too can form special bonds with their masters. It might work out fine.”

“I ask because I think she and Oscar have formed a pack, and we are in it.”

Elissa felt warm all over at that thought. A little pack with her, Leliana, the dog, the wolf.... “What about Wynne? And do you think the other companions will be in it when we get back to Redcliffe?”

“You are the pack’s alpha. I think that is your decision.”

“Hmm. I don’t know. A part of me thinks it should be just us.” She smirked, raising her eyebrows.

Leliana laughed musically.

Elissa smiled and continued her musings. “I was thinking about everything that transpired on this... mission. The wolf, the ashes... our talks. We’ve shared a lot with each other since we left Redcliffe. I think it’s been good for us both.”

“I agree,” Leliana said. “The tragedies at Kinloch Hold and Redcliffe were hard on us. I think that, from the perspective of helping others, it was good that we went to those places first. The Circle would have been utterly lost if we had delayed, and so too Redcliffe, and possibly the arl’s entire family.”

“Unless some sort of problem is also occurring with the Dalish and the dwarves of Orzammar,” Elissa said darkly.

Leliana sighed. “Let us pray not. But... all right. I think we made the right decisions for the sake of helping others. But for _us,_ personally? I cannot imagine that we could have encountered anything in Orzammar or the Dalish lands that would be as upsetting to us as these events have been.”

Elissa nodded. “I guess we’ll have to see, but I hope you’re right! I’m tired of being upset by everything I have to do as my duty. I never had any illusions that doing ‘heroic’ things was all glory and grandeur....” She shook her head, remembering King Cailan and his illusions about that very topic. “But I guess I did hope that there would be some measure of satisfaction, rather than just pain and trauma. Redcliffe was hard on me. It was harder on me than I even realized at the time, and I did realize that my state of mind was poor. I felt so _good_ when we left it behind and entered the mountains. I almost don’t want to go back, though of course I must.” She gazed ahead. “We made personal, emotional sacrifices, you’re saying, for the sake of helping others.”

“Yes. And so we _needed_ to go on this quest of faith. The Maker takes no pleasure in our suffering, even when we suffer for a good cause, I believe. He wants us to heal and find joy again after something hurts us.”

Elissa smiled and took Leliana’s hand across the bedrolls, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “We did.”

As they dozed off for the night, Elissa thought about the events of the trip. She did feel much better now. She had been able to speak with her father, in some form. He had given her permission to mourn, not just be angry and then push her anger away in yet _more_ anger. She had reckoned with her own inner demons, faced what they were, faced that they were not even inherently bad in their own right, just when taken to an extreme such that they crowded out all else. She had seen proof of Andraste. The Ashes were still in their pouch, still warm. She had been sent a direwolf, an unmistakable sign that she should embrace the gift of her mother’s blood once again. That direwolf—and her dog—had shown her what an act of faith could mean, and _she,_ not Leliana, but she, had been the one to understand it first. Yes, she felt better. She had not partaken of the Sacred Ashes herself, but she felt spiritual healing nonetheless.

_My father told me I could find true love. Leliana’s former partner told her to let go of whatever guilt she held. Before we entered the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Leliana told me that she wanted to wait until we had come to a better place before beginning a relationship. She must have healed on this journey too. Are we there now?_

* * *

Genitivi was glad to return to civilization, though he was sad to learn that the dragon cult had murdered his faithful assistant Weylon and replaced him with an impostor who misdirected loyal knights to their deaths. He shook his head sadly at the empty room that the impostor had taken in the Chantry, devoid of everything except his own notes now.

“I will catch a caravan to Denerim as soon as I can,” he said, “and set my house there in order—because I know that some of these documents came from there—and then I will take my account to Grand Cleric Elemena.”

“If I may, I would like to suggest a different priest as your first reader,” Leliana said. “It is nothing against the Grand Cleric, but I _know_ that Mother Dorothea is open to new and challenging ideas, and she is close to the Divine.”

“Oh?” The scholar looked interested, and as he and Leliana planned how to dispose of the report, Elissa decided to check up on Alistair and the others.

Somewhat to her surprise, but also to her satisfaction, he had fallen into his role quite well. The villagers were rebuilding structures in Redcliffe and the castle grounds that had been damaged by the undead, and Alistair seemed to be in a position of authority over this effort. He was standing in the town square in full armor, answering questions of people who came to him, and appearing confident rather than sheepish when he did. Sten gave Elissa a look of evident surprise at the fact that she had returned alive, but what she noticed most was that he was carrying a pile of heavy lumber for a rebuilding project, and Alistair seemed to have directed him. She approached her fellow Grey Warden.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed.

“So you see. And we want to keep this quiet in public, but....”

His eyes widened. “They’re _real?_ You got them?”

“We did.”

“That’s incredible,” he gasped. “Wow. That’s great.” He noticed the wolf next to her and the dog. “And you picked up a friend, I see?”

“Her name is Líadan and she is a direwolf, as you can tell from her size. She is under my control, Alistair. Don’t try to....”

“Oh, I’m going to leave her be just as I am your mabari! I’ve heard of direwolves, but they’re scarily big.”

Elissa smirked, but it faded quickly, replaced with a more serious expression. “How have _you_ been? You seem to be doing well right now.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Yes, I wouldn’t have thought it, but... people have respected me.”

“You must _command_ respect, of course,” she said, “but you were. You looked authoritative in the square when I arrived. Any trouble from anyone?”

“No, no trouble, except spite from Morrigan. But she’s... Morrigan.”

Elissa laughed. “Morrigan always has to express her opinion.”

“I’m glad you’re back, though,” he said. “I see that I _can_ lead, but I’m glad you’re back so that _you_ can lead once again.”

Elissa shook her head in tolerant amusement. Still, she was glad that he hadn’t decided that he liked being in command so much that he would not relinquish it now.

“If you have the _you-know-what,_ then we should get them to Arl Eamon as soon as we can,” he said in a lower voice.

Elissa stifled a sigh. She supposed he was right; the purpose of this was to wake the arl so that they would have him as an ally against the Blight, but there was still a part of her that hated parting with the sacred Ashes of Andraste.

* * *

Teagan stood nearby as his brother, long in a still coma, stirred in his sleep. His eyes began to move beneath his eyelids, and his muscular movements became voluntary instead of strictly unconscious. The Blight companions and close family of the arl gasped as one as he awakened.

“Teagan!” he exclaimed, his voice dry and husky. He met his brother’s gaze. “What has happened? Where are Connor and Isolde?”

Even in the Gauntlet, Elissa had not questioned that she had made the most rational choice with Isolde, and the arlessa had made her decision knowing that she wouldn’t get to speak to her husband again. But still, hearing her name cross Eamon’s lips was almost too much for her. She averted her gaze. Perhaps it was cowardly, but someone else, not an almost-stranger, should break this to the man first.

* * *

Arl Eamon needed to recover from his ordeal. Although he had been given food and water, and servants had seen to his bedside, his arms and legs were still weak from so long a period of disuse, and the food that the staff had fed him was limited to soups, very mushy stews, and pureed foods, nothing very substantial. He was thin, gaunt, and even the Ashes of Andraste could not restore him to his natural weight and muscle tone immediately. He also had several shocks to process: that he was now a widower, that his wife had died as the sacrifice for a blood magic spell to save their son, that their son was a mage, and that a demon had laid waste to his castle and arling. He had given a perfunctory thanks to Elissa, whom he knew of as a Cousland, and to Alistair, but had wanted to be alone tonight except for Teagan, Connor, and his close personal staff—who, miraculously, had survived.

Elissa was not sure exactly what made her go to Leliana’s bedroom in the castle. Perhaps it _was_ because the arl was occupied with his family and she had no business with him tonight, no duty that she could invoke as a priority over her heart.

 _I need to stop doing that,_ she thought as she stood outside Leliana’s door. _Maybe my duty does come first, but that doesn’t make it an excuse to set my heart aside when there is no conflict._

She had raised her clenched fist to knock when the door itself opened, revealing a familiar, pretty red-haired bard.

“I hoped you would come,” Leliana said, her voice a little breathless. She closed the door quickly behind Elissa as the latter entered the room.

Elissa sat down on an armchair and gazed at Leliana, who took a seat in a chair next to her. She suddenly realized that Leliana had already changed into a comfortable gown, a pretty blue one that complemented her hair well and matched her eyes. Her hair was also smooth and silky, and Elissa caught a glimpse of a hairbrush on the vanity. Meanwhile, she herself had just thrown on a sloppy tunic and pair of trousers after a bath in the stone tub in her room, and her own hair was in a messy braid down her back. She had not washed it. She felt uncharacteristically self-conscious. _I should have made more of an effort than this,_ she thought. _No, wait, why? More of an effort for—what? What am I here for?_

She knew the answer, but was suddenly afraid to admit it to herself.

However, she was nothing if not tough and courageous, and she managed to swallow her sudden surge of doubt enough to respond to Leliana. “You wished for my company?” she mumbled. “I mean... that is to say... would you have asked for me if I hadn’t shown?”

“I might have.” Her cheeks dimpled. “We _do_ need to talk, do we not?”

Her words seemed deceptively innocent. There was only the faintest hint of coquetry in her voice, but Elissa was certain that it _was_ there. “Talk?” she repeated, injecting a little flirtation of her own.

Leliana gave her a shrug and raised her eyebrows ever-so-slightly. “Well, yes.”

That _was_ too innocent, and it was finally too much for Elissa. _Maker’s breath, we are both grown, worldly women who have experience with this._ She broke into a chuckle. “Listen to us,” she said, shaking her head. “Like two teenage girls.”

Leliana chuckled, but only for a moment. Her face grew serious. “You recollect what I said that night, before we reached Haven, when I told you about Marjolaine and you told me of your... first... direwolf?”

Elissa’s heart jumped. “When you said that we should wait until we were in a better state of mind?”

“Yes.” She leaned forward, gazing intensely at Elissa. “I hoped that you would come to me tonight because I wanted to tell you, I do feel better now. The mission _was_ a journey of faith, and I think it would no longer be a matter of just finding solace for pain. That will still be a component, I think. We did suffer greatly, you especially... but I feel... _different_ now. But I will wait for you if you need more time.”

Elissa took a quick breath and let it out. Her heart thumped. “I feel a _lot_ better,” she confessed. “You’re right... there is still healing that must occur. Passing through the Gauntlet really only showed us _what_ we need to do, _what_ we need to heal... and seeing the Ashes of Andraste, being in her presence, could be that critical step... and in my case, Líadan—having her—finding this part of myself again... that is also a part of healing. It wouldn’t be fitting, in some way, if the Ashes fixed absolutely every emotional and spiritual wound that we have. I feel so inarticulate,” she lamented, aware that she was rambling, “but... I hope you understand what I mean.”

“I believe I do.”

“But we were in really bad states before we went on this journey. I mean, I know I was....”

“So was I,” Leliana said quietly. “I did not tell you just how bad.”

Elissa gave her a regretful look. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I expected you to help me with _my_ doubts and darkness when you were facing your own. I could tell that somewhat, but you’re right, I _didn’t_ know how bad it was. I’m sorry.”

“It is all right. I wanted to help you, not be an additional burden.”

Elissa shook her head. “You would never be a burden.”

Leliana gave her a sad look. “That is a noble, sweet, loving sentiment. But sometimes we _are_ burdens to our loved ones with our problems.” She managed a smile. “But we are both better now, no?”

“Yes,” Elissa said. “We were in terrible places in our minds and souls. Not fit to pursue... anything. But that is different now.”

“Yes,” Leliana said. Her eyes were still sad. “I am sure that, in the future, doubts and darkness will again nag at us... but let us not worry about that. Tonight, we will cherish this moment of peace and clarity. _Together.”_

Elissa gazed deeply at the bard’s sapphire eyes as emotion suddenly flooded her. “I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,” she burst out. “Where have you _been?”_

“In Orlais, then Lothering, until the Maker sent us to each other.”

“Oh?” Elissa said in a moment of playfulness. “Is He a divine matchmaker now?”

“Perhaps. Why not?” Leliana rose from her seat, reaching across for Elissa’s hands as she did. Elissa allowed herself to be pulled gently to her feet.

The scent of flowers—Andraste’s Grace, which had never seemed quite so fitting as they did now—filled Leliana’s hair and rose from her clean skin. Elissa breathed it in deeply as the two women embraced, a giddy, goofy, and utterly contented smile forming on her lips as she took in the fragrance. Leliana was so soft, too, the curves that were always apparent even in her leather and chain mail now gentle and ripe and _there._ She wore no shift, corset, or any other foolishness under this gown. Right under that layer of blue silk was _she._

But she could not focus on this exclusively, because Leliana’s clever bard’s hands were already finding their way around Elissa’s nightclothes too. Suddenly the self-consciousness that she had felt about wearing sloppy clothes vanished. They were loose and comfortable and erotic in their own way. It was certainly sensual to feel Leliana’s teasing hands through the cambric, running up her sides, deft and light.

“Where have you been?” Elissa repeated as they held and caressed each other. She didn’t ask it for an answer, instead leaning in and murmuring next to Leliana’s ear. “You are everything I have wanted and _needed_ _._ Everything.”

Leliana gently turned Elissa’s head so that their eyes met. “You are everything I have wanted and needed too.” _You are,_ she thought. _You are what—they—were not. You are honest and brave and loyal, and the pain that you carry is not a kind that is a barrier for us, but something that we can heal together._ “I _understand_ you,” she whispered. “I know you. I know you.” _I know what betrayal feels like. I know doubt. I know what it is to want to be a fighter for the Light and to always have to fight my own darkness at the same time, and to know that the battle itself is as important as the result. I know you._

Elissa allowed her eyes to flutter closed as Leliana tilted her head for a tender kiss. Her lips tasted like strawberries and cream. That taste and the scent of flowers almost seemed to overwhelm her with sweetness—but then, as their tongues met and the kiss became more intense, something else filled Elissa’s senses too: a hint of wine. Leliana was not intoxicated in the slightest, but she must have had a glass. It added a naughty suggestion of the bard to the sensory array of sweetness, and that idea sent a thrumming rush straight to a deep place in Elissa’s lower body.

They reluctantly broke the kiss but continued to embrace as they shuffled to the unmade bed. Leliana climbed on the mattress first, gently pulling Elissa after her. Elissa felt momentarily awkward again in her loose nightclothes, kneeling on the bed over her lover with that messy braid dangling in front of one shoulder. Leliana looked so elegant in her feminine gown, even refined in her passion. But this thought quickly fled Elissa’s mind as she moved forward to help her partner out of her clothes.

The blue silk gown was loose around Leliana’s body, a comfortable fit, and Elissa was able to slip the smooth fabric over her head easily. Her eyes widened at the sight before her of Leliana’s breasts. She had not seen them in the Gauntlet, as she had been behind Leliana, and that had not been a romantic or sexual event in any case. For the first time, Elissa truly appreciated Leliana’s beauty. She was thin but trim, curvaceous yet with toned arm and abdominal muscles, the mark of a fine archer. Her skin was smooth and creamy, unmarred except for the scar on her torso, the mark of Marjolaine’s dagger.

Elissa leaned forward to this very spot and planted a gentle kiss on the red mark. The bard gave her a grateful look, eyes shining. She shifted as the pink nubs of her nipples hardened a little from exposure and arousal.

“Do you want me to—” Elissa’s soft-spoken question was cut off when Leliana gently guided her face to her left breast.

Elissa took the pert bud into her mouth and began to lave the nipple with the tip of her tongue. With each stroke, Leliana shivered, her arms tensing beside her body. Elissa smiled and moved on to the other breast, leaving the first one wet, pink, and pointy.

Neither woman was extremely well-endowed in the chest; they were both on the slender side and their breasts were sized accordingly. In fact, Leliana had the smallest breasts of any of Elissa’s lovers, who _had_ been busty. There were times, when she had been with them, that she had been self-conscious of her own figure. But Leliana was living, breathing, lovely proof that a woman could have these proportions and be lovely and sensual, even very _femme,_ as the Orlesians liked to put it, in her personal presentation. Elissa knew that her own choice of appearance was less so... but she had a very similar body type. _Women come in all shapes, sizes, and appearances,_ she thought as she rolled Leliana’s right nipple between her tongue, eliciting another shiver from her. _Any of them can be—_ _well, perfect_ _._

Leliana was breathing more heavily now, and Elissa sensed that it was time to draw back and give her a chance to recover before they took their intimacy to the next stage. Her cheeks were flushed as she gazed at Elissa. “That was wonderful,” she praised. “And I would like to see _you_ now.”

Elissa remembered that she was still in her nightclothes. Stifling a chuckle, she quickly shimmied out of them, tossing the clothes into a heap atop Leliana’s silk gown.

Leliana pulled Elissa down next to her and began tracing the marks of _her_ scars in turn, the scars of the arrows that the darkspawn at Ostagar shot into her chest from which Flemeth had evidently saved her. She pushed the memory out of her mind and instead allowed Leliana to stroke her body, caressing her skin, and each of her own breasts and nipples in turn. Elissa fought primarily with daggers and sprinted into the heat of combat, making her more muscular than her lover. Toned muscles in her arms rippled in the soft candlelight as Leliana began to plant kisses on her collarbone and neck.

Her breathing became faster as she anticipated what was to come next. Heat began to spread over her body, and she returned Leliana’s kisses, tilting her head up so that they could give each other full-mouth ones again. Elissa was getting more aggressive as her arousal grew, rolling Leliana onto her back once more, climbing atop her, and devouring her as if she could get lost in her.

They finally parted, panting, heated, and pink in the cheeks. Neither of them needed to ask the question vocally. Elissa just nodded quickly, a single dip of her chin, and slipped her dexterous hands into Leliana’s smalls to remove them. Her lover did the same.

Elissa was in her stride now, and the more that she did for Leliana, the more her own desire and arousal grew, so she decided that she would go first. She moved in a quick flurry of kisses down Leliana’s body until she reached the juncture of her thighs and her hips. The skin there was so soft and smooth, and Elissa could not help but run her fingers across Leliana’s body, closing her own eyes involuntarily at the sensation. Leliana herself trembled at the touch, reminding Elissa of her resolution.

It did not surprise her in the least that her lover’s core was already wet with arousal. Pleased, eager, and feeling a little smug, Elissa finished her trail of kisses with one last one that included the tip of her tongue, then drew back abruptly—pausing for a second that seemed to last for an eternity—and descended upon her center with fingertips and tongue.

Leliana was a responsive lover—not a screamer, not a thrasher, but the little sighs and twitches that she gave at Elissa’s movements were even more erotic to her. She was always unsure if a woman would want this or not, but when Leliana didn’t object at the slight entry of Elissa’s fingertips into her channel, in fact let out one of those pleasant sighs and seemed to open herself ever so slightly further, Elissa pushed further, slipping lithe fingers all the way inside, hooking them to reach the most sensitive spot from within. All the while, she was alternating kisses and little licks of her tongue, delighting in her lover’s taste.

She could tell when Leliana was about to climax, and she shifted her focus to her clit to bring her to the pinnacle sooner. A few presses—and a melodic sigh escaped from the bard as her body relaxed.

Elissa gave her a few more kisses as she slipped her fingers out and shifted back up her body, finally resting beside her on the bed again. Leliana continued to breathe heavily, her heart rate gradually slowing from its peak, but Elissa could not wait much longer. She was too impatient. With her lover’s slickness still coating her fingers, she slipped her hand between her own legs and turned on one side against Leliana, throwing a leg over her waist and moving close, sandwiching her hand between her own heated center and Leliana’s thigh to get a good spot to rub—

But her lover had recovered quickly and would not stand for this. “Let me do that,” she said, wrapping Elissa into an embrace in order to roll _her_ onto her back now. Her hands slid down between their heated bodies to find Elissa’s core. “You are ready,” she teased, gently removing Elissa’s hand to replace it with her own as she repositioned herself.

Now it was Leliana who was situated between Elissa’s legs, slipping one, two, three fingers inside her, she was so soaked and ready. She began to roll Elissa’s sensitive and swollen clit with the pad of one thumb, making Elissa cry out as she rapidly drew near her peak.

Leliana seemed to understand, though, and wanted to make it last a little longer. She slowed her motions with her thumb, withdrew her fingers, and instead concentrated on appreciating Elissa’s body some more. Elissa suppressed a twitch as Leliana stroked and tongued her inner thighs, teasing her with the memory of what she had just been doing and the promise of more.

Elissa relaxed and allowed herself to enjoy the bliss of this steady touch, rather than driving herself to a peak. She breathed heavily and sighed in pleasure. And with that, Leliana, satisfied that she was giving Elissa as much pleasure as she had been given herself, returned to her first motions. Slender fingers slipped back inside and her thumb found Elissa’s rosebud once again. Elissa’s awareness of her surroundings dwindled rapidly to only herself, Leliana, and the small area on the bed that they occupied. Nothing else mattered, just the sweet heat of this intimacy.

She tumbled over her own peak, a gasp bursting from her lips as her entire body shook, then shook again.

She was not sure how long she remained like this, but after some minutes had passed, she became aware that Leliana was now lying next to her again, her face inches from her own. She had pulled the covers over them both to trap their body heat within.

“That was wonderful,” Elissa said first.

The red-haired bard smiled. “Yes, it was.”

“I think I’m in love with you,” she confessed. “And I’m not just saying that because of— _that._ You’re everything I’ve wanted. I said that and now I am saying it again, because it’s true.”

“I know,” Leliana replied with a sincere smile. “I feel the same. I’m in love with you too.”

They knew that their nightclothes were just feet away on the bed, but it was simply too much bother to reach for them now. They could keep each other warm in the sweet intimacy of nakedness under the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed that! I’m going to try to update more quickly going forward.


	18. Counselor or Puppeteer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fans of Arl Eamon, take note, this story is critical of him, and this chapter is probably the most critical thus far. I’m not writing him as a villain, but I _am_ giving a pretty harsh take on canon involving him. You can’t really have a hard talk with Alistair about Eamon in the game, but that’s what fanfic is for. Elissa’s take in this chapter is my own take as well.

Leliana gave Elissa a wicked, knowing smile the next morning. The sun streamed through the drapes, its rays making their bodies nearly glow with health and vitality.

Elissa greeted her with a kiss. Maker, but it was nice to wake up with someone she loved. Leliana clearly agreed, as she allowed herself to be drawn into a warm, naked embrace under the covers. Elissa’s hands began to stroke up her lover’s sides. Initially it was just a gesture of greeting, tenderness, and, perhaps, Elissa reassuring herself that this was real, that _Leliana_ was real and hers—but it rapidly turned into more than that.

“We aren’t going to see the others just yet, then?” Leliana teased.

“I think not,” Elissa murmured, planting another kiss on her collarbone. “Duty’s duty, but it doesn’t mean that we never get _any_ time for ourselves.”

“Exactly.”

Elissa rolled her onto her back and climbed atop her. Blue eyes gazed up at her eagerly and lovingly as Leliana pulled her down to another kiss.

* * *

The two women were remarkably alert and happy when they did finally take their breakfasts and then enter the Great Hall of Redcliffe, where Teagan and Eamon were conferring. Several of their companions were already there. Alistair was chatting with a knight, and Zevran looked to be _flirting_ with a knight. Wynne was milling about, reading a book. She gave the young women a pointed look as they entered the room together. Her lips thinned slightly, but this was the only sign of disapproval that she showed. Elissa hoped that she would come to see that her relationship with Leliana was a good thing, not something that would distract her from her tasks. The fact that Wynne herself had experienced a traumatic outcome from a romantic relationship did not mean that it was inevitable that everyone else would.

Arl Eamon was still thin and weak, of course, but he looked much better than he had last night, and he had, after all, emerged from the sickroom to oversee his castle. His brother gestured for Elissa and her companions to come forward to speak to the family.

“Wardens,” Eamon said, “I extend my thanks once more for the services you have rendered. I mourn Lady Isolde, of course.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Elissa said sincerely.

“I’m told that she insisted on it herself, and you chose to save Connor and the people of Redcliffe. If I had been in her place, it would have been me. True nobles protect their people, and loving parents would lay down their lives for their children.”

“I know,” she said quietly, looking down, eyes suddenly hot. “I know personally.”

“I learned of what befell your family and I offer my sympathies as well. But we must look ahead and concentrate on saving Ferelden. Connor will go to the Circle, and Teagan will become my heir. As for you, I would like to offer a token of my gratitude for your services. I name you and your companions Champions of Redcliffe. Teagan, please present the Warden with her gift.”

Elissa stood by as the bann brought her a heavy shield painted with the sigil of Redcliffe. She stifled her grimace. She did not use a shield, but she could not turn this down. It seemed to be a high-quality item. She resolved to give it to Alistair when they were away from here; he fought with sword and shield.

“We should speak of Loghain, brother,” Teagan said as he returned to the high seat. “There is no telling what he will do now.”

Eamon shook his head. “I do not understand what has come over Loghain, why he would do this. The darkspawn are on our very doorstep, yet he instigates a civil war. Long I have known him. He is a sensible man, one who never desired power. This is not like him.”

“He desires it now,” Teagan said roughly. “I was there when he said he was taking over the throne. He’s mad with ambition.”

“Mad,” Eamon mused. “Perhaps it is exactly that. But whatever happened to him, he must be stopped.”

Well, Eamon certainly wasn’t wasting any time getting down to business, Elissa thought. She couldn’t judge him for not falling into a morass of grief—after all, she had done the same, pushing ahead relentlessly with her duty in the days between the massacre and their arrival at the Circle Tower, which was the first time she allowed herself an emotional outburst. But she did wonder a bit that he expressed no sense of awe for the reality of the Ashes of Andraste or his own cure by their powers. She could tell that it was off-putting to Leliana too.

“I agree with your lordship that the priority is the Blight,” she spoke up. “Perhaps Alistair has told you about the Grey Wardens’ mission to obtain allies. We have already enlisted the... surviving... Circle mages. We also have treaties with the crown of Orzammar and the clans of the Dalish elves.”

“And I pledge you the support of Redcliffe’s soldiers,” Eamon said. “I will spread the word of Loghain’s treachery to my peers.”

“You should contact Arl Bryland and Arl Wulff,” Elissa suggested. “Also Bann Alfstanna. I expect the allies of my family will be amenable enough.” She paused. “Bann Teagan. I would ask you about what you saw, regarding Loghain taking the throne. How could he do that? Did Queen Anora formally cede the regency to him? Didn’t King Cailan name a regent himself?”

The Guerrins exchanged uncomfortable looks. “Warden Cousland, I... do not know what the queen dowager and her father discussed behind closed doors. What I do know is that King Cailan did not....” Teagan grimaced. “He did not leave a last will and testament or any instruction about who should rule in the interregnum before a Landsmeet if he were to die.”

Elissa gaped in disbelief. “He was a king!” she exclaimed. “How could he not have had a will? Are you certain that Loghain didn’t just suppress and destroy it?”

Arl Eamon shook his head. “I advised King Cailan closely. It could not have been concealed from me. I am sorry to confirm that he did not have a will. He wanted to... have things more settled....” The arl broke off awkwardly.

Elissa was appalled, and she could tell that this was a surprise to Leliana as well. Certainly it would be unthinkable among the Orlesian nobility. Indeed, it was unthinkable here in Ferelden too. She had wondered about this before, but had not seriously imagined it could be true, and she could scarcely believe it.

“So Loghain is not truly a usurper, in that there was no one whose lawful rights he is usurping,” Eamon continued. “That means that we must call a Landsmeet to name an official monarch to be formally crowned and put forward a challenge that he cannot ignore. His power depends on the myth that the Theirin bloodline is extinct. That, as I believe you know, is not the case.”

In the back, Alistair grimaced. “Oh, no,” he groaned loudly.

“Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem opportunists, no better than Loghain. Alistair’s claim is by blood.”

“Does nobody care about what _I_ want?” Alistair burst out.

Eamon regarded him gravely. “You have a responsibility, Alistair. Without you, Loghain wins. I would have to support him, for the sake of Ferelden. Is that what you want?”

Elissa was torn. She agreed with the substance of Eamon’s words, but something in her became angry at the presumption of Eamon laying a guilt trip on Alistair. _And you had a responsibility to raise a king’s son appropriately,_ _so that he would be prepared for that role if he had to assume it_ _,_ she thought. _How dare you moralize_ _to_ _him_ _about duty_ _?_ _You sure evaded yours!_

“No... but....”

“So once the armies have been gathered, I will call for a Landsmeet to decide the succession. Then we can fight our true foe. What say you to that, Warden? I do not wish to proceed without your blessing.”

Elissa nodded, suppressing her anger. “I consent. But I would ask why you can’t call for the Landsmeet at once.” Her words had an edge.

“If it doesn’t go our way, then... well, let us just say that there might not be any Grey Wardens in Ferelden to invoke the treaties.”

Elissa grimaced, but she couldn’t argue with that. She cursed inwardly. They should have talked to the Queen immediately after Ostagar, before battle lines were drawn. Now the moment was lost. She sighed, resigning herself to the reality that she would continue to hear falsehoods against her family and the Grey Wardens, continue to hear rumors of Howe’s tyranny over the North, until this Landsmeet.

She remembered her own theory about why Loghain was acting as he was. Squaring herself up, she faced the Guerrins. “My lords. Regarding Alistair and his birth. I have to ask... did King Cailan know about Alistair? And does Loghain know?”

“Yes... to both,” Eamon said. “Cailan learned as a young man that he had a half-brother, and Loghain has known for even longer.”

She gazed down, scowling and hoping that the Guerrins didn’t see it. There it was, then. She could not know exactly what Loghain was thinking without asking him personally, but if he knew who Alistair was, her theory that he believed his own assertions about a Warden conspiracy was quite viable.

“So,” Teagan offered, “in that sense, he _is_ knowingly usurping the rights of the last Theirin.”

“But King Cailan didn’t mention Alistair as an heir either, even though he knew Alistair was the only other Theirin?” Elissa asked. The Guerrins shook their heads. Her dismay and disgust for the late king rapidly grew. How could he have been so selfish and irresponsible? _The condition of Ferelden right now, the political unrest and chaos, is more Cailan’s fault than anyone else’s,_ she thought mutinously.

“All right,” she finally said. “I will obtain the rest of the Grey Warden allies, and we’ll prepare for a Landsmeet. I want justice for my family too.” Her gaze hardened. “I claim the right of blood against Rendon Howe.”

“That will be settled as well... if not before.” Eamon paused. “For now, one decision remains, and that is what will become of the apostate, Jowan. Teagan, have him brought forth.”

* * *

Elissa was not at all sure that that had gone well. Eamon had clearly wanted the head of the man who poisoned him—but this was also the man who saved his only child, and the poisoning was not Jowan’s own idea, but an act he was blackmailed into doing. He had also perhaps saved the villagers and castle staff who might have died if Elissa had spent days traveling to and from the Circle. She had come up with what she thought was a just punishment, to return Jowan to the Circle, where he would then be ordered to fight beside the other mages in the Blight. Leliana had given her a troubled look as she issued her judgment, and as the small group headed back to the dungeons to escort the mage to his cell, it became clear why.

* * *

“My lady,” Jowan said quietly, “I know I don’t deserve mercy... but I....” He mustered up his courage to speak. “The reason I escaped the Circle is that they were going to make me Tranquil. There was something else, but that was why I allowed myself to entertain the idea of escaping. Since I used blood magic to escape, they might execute me now if I go back, but... I don’t _know_ that. Since the Circle was almost destroyed, and the demons attacked the Tranquil too, they might keep me around to ‘rebuild.’ I can’t imagine that they would admit me again as a mage. And I would rather die than live like that. I mean that.” He got on his knees. “Please, I beg of you, just—end it.”

Morrigan and Sten were indifferent, but the rest of the companions looked troubled at this. Wynne was especially upset. “Jowan,” she said in a soothing tone, “the First Enchanter has to approve the Rite of Tranquility. It is Chantry law. I could speak to him. You kept your word here, such as it was.”

“Irving had already approved it, then,” Jowan said morosely. “Can he take that back? And anyway, would they admit me after the massacre, the doing of blood mages?” He shook his head. “And when Lord Connor arrives....”

“Could we conscript him into the Grey Wardens?” Elissa asked Alistair. “We do need mages, as Leliana pointed out at the Circle Tower.”

He shook his head. “We don’t know how to make... you-know-what.”

Elissa stood aside, biting her lower lip and pondering their options. Finally she made a decision. “I will call upon the treaty that the Circle of Magi has with the Grey Wardens,” she said. “I will _demand_ that you fight the Blight _as a mage._ The First Enchanter and Knight-Commander acknowledged the treaty and agreed to send all surviving capable adult mages of the Circle to fight the darkspawn. You were a capable adult mage of the Circle at the time that they agreed to that; therefore, they meant you too. Even if they didn’t know it.”

Leliana chuckled. “She is right! Their promise included you!”

Jowan managed a weak smile at this. Elissa made sure that no one was listening, then, in an undertone that no one could hear, she muttered to Jowan, “And after we’ve defeated the Blight, I expect there will be quite a bit of chaos and confusion following the final battle. You know what I mean?”

“I... do.”

“I don’t want to hear of you again after the Blight is over,” she said with a falsely sweet smile, “unless it’s to Join the Grey Wardens.”

* * *

Elissa made arrangements with Teagan to escort Jowan back to the Circle herself, which he was visibly relieved to hear. Every knight of Redcliffe was needed here, and even the local Templars were busy doing civic work to restore the village. If the Wardens wanted to take on extra duties, _he_ didn’t object.

She then mustered up her nerve and approached his brother, the Arl. She knew it was terribly ill-bred to start what might turn into an argument in front of others, but she was not going to let certain things go unchallenged. As Teagan departed to resume his regular duties, Eamon was alone in the Great Hall with only the knights remaining. She gestured that she wanted a private word with him, and soon they found themselves in the Little Audience Chamber of Redcliffe Castle, the door closed behind them.

“What did you need to discuss, Warden Cousland?”

“Alistair,” she said, “and specifically, his readiness to be king.”

Eamon raised an eyebrow. “Teagan told me last night that while you and your companions went into the mountains, you left Alistair in charge, and that he did a fine job of it. Of course, overseeing the recovery effort of a small village is different from ruling a nation, but it shows that the Theirin blood runs true in him. In time, he may live up to his half-brother’s leadership example.”

 _If the only thing required to be a king is to make inspirational statements and imagine oneself chosen by the Maker and immune to harm, then there are plenty of people who could be kings,_ she thought sourly. _And if you think Cailan was a good leader, someone Alistair should emulate, you don’t know what that even is._

“I have been encouraging Alistair to become more comfortable with making decisions,” she managed.

Eamon nodded, pleased. “There is a reason families like ours, and like the Theirins, are the natural leaders of Ferelden.”

Elissa obviously understood this point of view. It promoted civil and political stability for the spirit of a nation—or a teyrnir, or arling—to be embodied in the popular imagination in a specific bloodline. There was a reason that the Rebellion burgeoned when Maric’s survival became known and the rebels could rally around their prince. She reflected on the constant turmoil and corruption of their northern neighbor, Kirkwall, which couldn’t keep the same family on its high seat for more than two generations. But the Rebellion had also flourished with the clever strategizing and superior merit of Loghain, which had been rewarded with his own ascent to the nobility. Then, too, inferior, corrupted nobles eventually fell from power. _Rendon Howe, you’re next,_ she thought. One had to _live up to_ one’s heritage, she felt—and Cailan had failed in that.

But she couldn’t say this to Cailan’s uncle, who obviously thought that the late king had done nothing wrong. And she wanted to discuss other things.

“Alistair has natural merit and talent,” she said carefully. “But unfortunately, that talent has been suppressed until recently.”

“What do you mean?”

 _Just say it,_ she thought. Mustering her courage, she did. “He told me that _someone_ had impressed upon him when he was a young boy that his heritage didn’t matter, both by telling him so, and by treating him accordingly. He himself didn’t mind it, but it could undermine him if it gets out that you made him work as a stableboy. People might think you were putting forward a former servant boy who happened to resemble a Theirin. I _believe_ Alistair is Maric’s son,” she said when Eamon looked to object. “I’m not accusing you of lying! But no one would think that an appropriate way to raise a king’s child.” Her voice had a sharp edge.

Eamon bristled. “That was my lady wife’s doing, Warden. She believed him to be _my_ son.”

Elissa didn’t doubt it, but it still irked her that the man would be so eager to push blame onto a woman who wasn’t alive to defend herself instead of taking responsibility for his charge. “Did you ever tell her the truth?” she replied. When Eamon did not respond, she continued, her worst suspicions confirmed. “And who was the ruling noble? Who had the right to make final decisions, Lady Isolde, or you?”

Eamon glowered at the young woman as he drew further into himself in defense. “I allowed this decision to stand, and then later, her wish that he join the Templars, in order to protect Prince Cailan. Raised as a prince, Alistair would have been a rival to Cailan... and it would have dishonored the memory of my royal sister, Queen Rowan.”

“If Maric cheated on his queen, the dishonor was his,” she said brazenly, “as it would have been _his_ broken vow. If we aren’t responsible for our own deeds, our oaths mean nothing. Even a king’s.”

Eamon looked chastened by this logic. Emboldened, Elissa continued. “But that said, Alistair is not even the product of adultery. I know how old he is. He was born two years after the queen died.” She faced Eamon. “And Cailan would hardly have been the first prince or princess to have been raised with a sibling. In fact,” she added, feeling and sounding more exercised by the moment, “as King Maric grew older and never had another legitimate child, never remarried, wouldn’t it have occurred to _someone_ to have a prince in reserve, in case something happened to Cailan? If Maric had acknowledged him, he could have legitimized him and had him _educated accordingly._ Alistair wouldn’t have been a Grey Warden at all then. Did it not occur to _anyone_ that it was a bad idea to have the royal line so sparse?”

Eamon was silent for a moment. “Alistair _has_ been a ‘prince in reserve,’ as you say,” he said gruffly. “The succession has not failed.”

“But Ferelden is at war now. If not Maric, then Cailan should have named him as his heir-presumptive if he died without issue— _as has happened_. He failed to have a child with Anora after five years—failed even to sire a bastard, evidently—and then the darkspawn attacked. The _Blight_ is our common enemy! The darkspawn don’t care if someone supports us or Loghain—or neither. They will kill anyone! This civil war did not need to happen.”

“This civil war is happening because of Loghain!”

“Yes,” Elissa said, “it is—but this is my point! Loghain is Regent _at all_ because Cailan _left no heirs!_ He didn’t even leave a will naming an heir-presumptive! A king! He really _didn’t_ believe he might die.”

“From what I have heard, he died because Loghain commanded the rest of the army to retreat, leaving him to die.”

“With all due respect, you were not there, my lord Arl. The battlefield was overrun with darkspawn. The horde was over ten thousand strong. Loghain probably wanted to save the rest of the army.” She suppressed her own grief at the memories she was about to dredge up. “There were servants and guards still alive at Highever. Did I kill them by fleeing? Or did I leave a battle I could not win because that was the only way that a Cousland could live to fight another day? Cailan fought in the vanguard; what could _anyone_ have done to save him once they clashed with the darkspawn?” She took a deep breath. “I’m not defending what Loghain has done afterwards, especially poisoning you, but there are times when the only rational choice is to retreat and regroup.”

“Alistair believes that Loghain also killed the Warden-Commander.”

“Alistair was very close to Duncan, and the loss hurts him greatly. I hate that he died too. He saved my life, and we would have been better off with an experienced Warden-Commander alive. But he also fought with the vanguard. No one can promise safety to people fighting on the front lines.” She sighed. “My point is, Loghain took power because no one else except his own daughter had the standing to do so, and she’d never been Regent before, while he had. And that would have been avoided if Maric had acknowledged Alistair. Cailan would’ve had little choice but to name him his heir-presumptive, and Loghain couldn’t have become Regent unopposed.”

Eamon glowered again. “It is of little import. Once the Landsmeet sees Alistair and hears from me that he is Maric’s son, the succession will be settled. _Your_ job is to gather the rest of the allies against the Blight, _Warden._ I cannot call a Landsmeet until you have secured the dwarven kingdom and the Dalish elves.” At that, he turned away and began to walk off.

Elissa clenched her fists as she watched him leave. Something was becoming clear to her, and it enraged her. _He didn’t want Alistair known as a son of Maric because Cailan was his nephew by blood,_ she realized. _That is all that it was. Cailan was his nephew by blood and Alistair is not related to him._

_Eamon intended to keep whispering in Cailan’s ear, and now that that has been denied him, he must turn to his fallback plan, to whisper in Alistair’s ear. But that’s only possible if Alistair regards Eamon as his benefactor, the man to whom he owes his throne. If Alistair had been acknowledged by Maric and educated as a prince, Eamon would have been nothing to him—and he knows it. If he goes before the Landsmeet and gets Alistair put on the throne, he can hold over Alistair that his word did it, and he can persuade Alistair that Alistair “needs” him as an advisor because Alistair was never brought up to be a prince... but that is only because he neglected Alistair’s education._

_I wish I knew why Maric permitted it. Perhaps he didn’t care much about anything after the queen died. He did tend to go adventuring after that, leaving the ruling to Teyrn Loghain. Eamon took full advantage of Maric’s absence._

Elissa resolved on something in that moment. _I won’t have it. Eamon is no friend to Alistair and I will not let Alistair continue to believe otherwise. I may be a Grey Warden now, but I am also a Cousland. I am a noblewoman, born and raised in Fereldan politics. Leliana may be a lay sister, but she was trained as an Orlesian bard, immersed in politics too. Alistair has actual friends who are equipped to make a king out of him. I can never be more than a friend to him, but this I can do—for my friend and for my country._

She wished that she could spend her time with Leliana in a _different_ manner, but this was important. They needed to confer about this and make a plan.

* * *

“Alistair, Leliana and I need to talk with you alone,” Elissa said. “Well—and my dog and wolf, but they won’t be speaking.” She forced a smile.

For all of Alistair’s affectations of playing the court jester, dreading mental work, preferring to beat on things with a sword, and generally self-effacing behavior, he was smarter and more perceptive than he let on. He looked absolutely miserable when she approached him, and this statement—made in a very serious tone—seemed to confirm to him the thing that was making him miserable. Elissa was sure she knew what it was, that he had figured out what was going on. Her smile did not fool him.

“You and Arl Eamon really are going to put me forward for the throne,” he said wretchedly when they were in an isolated room. “Aren’t you?”

She chose her words carefully. “I know that it isn’t what you wanted, but Eamon said some things that... well, that seriously concern me. He is not the only person who knows who you are, as you recall.”

“Well, of course not,” he said jocularly. “I told you. And the rest of you lot know.” He grinned at the women.

Elissa ignored this. “As Eamon said this morning, Loghain knows, and Cailan knew too. That means Queen Anora knows. Your secret is nothing of the sort, Alistair. You cannot hide from it.”

He looked cornered. “But—but I’m a Grey Warden! Grey Wardens can’t be kings and queens! That means I’m not a threat....” He trailed off, recalling that being Wardens had not kept Loghain from trying to have them assassinated, and groaned. “Maker,” he swore.

Elissa nodded. “Exactly. It hasn’t stopped him. Alistair,” she said, “do you know why the Wardens were banished from Ferelden?”

“They got involved in some sort of rebellion up north, I thought.”

“They _led_ it and committed treason. There was discontent with King Arland. I am not sure if it had merit, or what side of the conflict my family was on,” she said, frowning. She had learned this history from Aldous, but the books had been very cagey about the Couslands’ part in it. She wondered if they had been among the discontented. “But then, instead of letting the nobles settle it properly in a Landsmeet, the Grey Wardens rose in rebellion. Their Warden-Commander had been born a noblewoman and she was a cousin of the Theirins. She sought to overthrow the king and set herself on the throne.”

Alistair frowned, taking this in. Elissa could tell exactly when he made the connection. “Maker’s breath!” he exclaimed. “If Loghain knows who my father was—and of course he’d know all about that rebellion—”

“Yes,” Elissa said, “that is my theory too, that he isn’t trying to deflect blame from his decision to retreat, but that he _really does think_ there was a Warden plot to put you on the throne. Because it happened before.”

He shook his head. “Then why in the Maker’s name do you want to _do it?”_ he exclaimed.

“Several reasons. One, too many important people know you’re a Theirin, and there is a precedent from that rebellion that being a Grey Warden doesn’t remove you as a contender. Your life could be in danger, Alistair. You know what Zevran said about royal bastards of Antiva. They tend not to live long.”

“Yes, and we could all die in the Blight, too.”

“And if we don’t, then you’ll forever face the danger of being seen as a rival, especially since you would have emerged as one of the heroes of the Blight, and you would then be a senior Warden in a time of relative peace from darkspawn activity. You wouldn’t have other pressing Warden duties.”

He groaned.

Leliana then spoke up to assist Elissa. “There is another issue. We seek to get Teyrn Loghain off the throne. That means someone must replace him... and _that_ means that we either must win outright, or we must make peace with those on his side that we can, such as, perhaps, Queen Anora.”

He seized at the queen’s name like a drowning man clutching a rope. “There you go. Why can’t she stay there? If she doesn’t approve of what he’s done, of course.”

“We don’t know yet whether she is a viable candidate to rule,” Elissa said. “We don’t know if she believes Howe, or would believe him even if she heard a different account from me about my family. I’m willing to forgive people, _for now,”_ she said darkly, “since Howe’s lies are the only word out there, but not after they hear from me and still believe him. I don’t know if Anora would. We also don’t know how friendly she is to the Grey Wardens. It’s crucial to have a monarch who supports us, Alistair. King Cailan was a close friend of Duncan.” Leliana stifled a mildly shocked smile. Elissa was ashamed of herself for doing that, as it was brazen emotional manipulation, but if it worked....

It did. Alistair’s expression changed from mutinous denial to glum resignation. “There’s something in that,” he said dully. “But... I don’t know how to be king. I guess Arl Eamon could help. Yes,” he said again, seizing on the idea. “He could advise me. He has done so much for me, I owe him that.”

The two women exchanged glances. Elissa girded herself. This part of this discussion might be harder than the first. Leliana gave a quick glance at the door, checking to make sure it was tightly closed. Elissa nonetheless kept her voice down in case someone overheard.

“Alistair, Eamon mistreated you as a child.”

Alistair scowled. “You said that before, but I think I had more fun rolling about in the stables than I would have raised as a stuffed-shirt... bastard prince.”

Elissa heaved a sigh. “If you had been raised as a young gentleman, _that_ would have been normal to you—and incidentally, noble children _can_ play and get up to mischief, in the stables and elsewhere. I certainly did.” She smiled at the memories. “But look, Alistair, think about this. Why would Eamon have told you who your father was—told you that you were a king’s son—but _also_ told you that your birth didn’t matter, that you were nothing and nobody? If you were nothing and nobody, unimportant, if your paternity didn’t matter, then _why tell it to you?”_

Alistair considered that. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“It was cruel of him to do so,” she continued, “far crueler than just keeping it a secret and letting you think you were a peasant boy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He rubbed his head. “I... guess so.”

“And as I see it, there are only two possible reasons why he did it. One, pettiness and spite, perhaps on behalf of his sister....”

He objected at once. “I don’t believe that! He was never spiteful to me.”

“And the queen died years before your birth, of course,” Leliana added.

“Exactly! King Maric didn’t cheat on her. Well, not with my mother.”

Elissa tried not to laugh at how well they were both manipulating him. “The other possibility,” she said, “is that Eamon wanted you to know the truth in case he needed to use you as a political pawn if the need arose someday, while also ensuring that you would never challenge Cailan. And _that_ is the possibility I think is extremely likely. He all but admitted it to me.”

Alistair’s jaw dropped in shock and indignation. He closed it at once, then his mouth fell open again a time or two more in succession. It was clear to both women that he didn’t _want_ this to be true, but that he couldn’t come up with another explanation, and in any case, Eamon’s present actions seemed to back it up. When he was finally able to speak, he was subdued.

“I _was_ hurt when he told me that I didn’t matter like Cailan did, like other children with noble blood did,” he said in a low voice. “It hurt my feelings. I didn’t even _want_ those things, but being told that, _like that,_ hurt. I wondered why the Arl had bothered to tell me about Maric at all.”

“Now you know,” she said tonelessly.

He heaved a heavy sigh.

Elissa’s voice was gentler now that she had apparently made him accept this unpleasant truth. “And I know that you enjoyed playing in the stables and getting muddy,” she said. “I did too as a girl. But that wasn’t where I _lived._ It was inappropriate to foster a king’s son by making him a stableboy, keeping him illiterate, and forcing him to sleep near horse droppings.”

“It is true,” Leliana said. “In Orlais, _and_ here in Ferelden, an illegitimate child of even a minor lord would be given proper quarters and the chance to become a knight or a scholar. I knew many such. You did not have this until you were sent to the Chantry, and that happened only because the arlessa wanted you gone.”

Alistair looked wretched, but he could not argue with them.

“So Eamon was wrong—your birth _does_ matter,” Elissa said firmly.

Alistair finally managed to speak. “If it was wrong for me, maybe no one should have to live in dirt and squalor, even people who _are_ peasants.”

Leliana smiled in approval, and Elissa’s voice was gentler still when she spoke. “Perhaps you are right,” she said.

“We are all Children of the Maker,” Leliana added.

“So we are,” Elissa said, “and... yes, everyone deserves dignity. I’ve had to reflect a lot on that since... the event at Highever.” She sighed. “But in the world we live in, people would regard Eamon’s treatment of you as a scandal and a disgrace because you are a son of King Maric.”

Alistair ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up. “What do you want from me?” he finally said. “Eamon did wrong by me. I admit it. Is that it?”

“That’s a part. You can still care about him, Alistair! We can care about people and still see when they have wronged us. What we need to do in that case, though, is limit their influence over us. We began this talk about Eamon when you said he could be a counselor to you if you become King. Now, though, if you agree that he treated you as he did because he wanted to control you—do you still think he should be your counselor?”

“Maybe... not. Or at least, no more than one among several.”

“It is usually wisest to listen to multiple rational points of view,” Leliana agreed. “Even if you do not agree with all of them, doing so will make you think about something that you might not have otherwise.”

He stared at the ground, still glum but more resigned now. “Well—I’ll do that. When—if—you lot make me be _King._ Ugh.” He shuffled off.

* * *

“Poor thing,” Leliana said when they were alone. “I almost felt bad about pulling at his strings like that.” She gave Elissa a wink and a grin. “But that remark of yours about King Cailan and Duncan!”

Elissa shrugged innocently. “It worked, and I wasn’t wrong.”

“No, you were not.” Leliana lay back on the bed, resting her head on a pillow. Elissa smiled and gazed upon her, the rays of the setting sun bathing her body in golden tones and making her hair look like fire. “What you said about Queen Anora—do you mean to talk with her when we get the chance?”

“I really hope to,” Elissa said. “I knew her growing up. I have to think that will mean something to her. And I know Alistair won’t like it, and possibly not Eamon either, but I’d also like to have a word with Loghain.”

“What about what Arl Eamon said about Loghain not acting like himself, and possibly having lost his mind?”

Elissa considered it. “You know what I think of Eamon for his treatment of Alistair... but... if Jowan was telling the truth, Loghain paid to have Eamon _poisoned._ We don’t know if the poison was supposed to be lethal or if it was ‘only’ meant to put him into this coma, but either way, if Eamon could speak that way, almost _forgiving,_ of the man who had him poisoned... well, I can’t just set that aside. Maybe there _is_ something wrong with him.” She was troubled. “I don’t know. Alistair wants his head because he blames him for Duncan’s death. I want Rendon Howe’s head for obvious reasons. You want to have it out with Marjolaine. Should I consider my vengeance just and proper, and yours, but not his?”

“It will depend on Loghain’s motives for retreating,” Leliana said. “If he did so because he truly thought it the only rational choice, as you believe... then he did not murder Duncan. Alternatively....” She trailed off.

Elissa nodded. “We just need to have this Landsmeet and get all of this out in the open. That depends on getting the other armies. It depends on _me.”_

Leliana smiled gently at her. “You are not alone.”

Elissa gazed back, the corners of her lips tugging upward of their own free will. She glanced quickly at the door to be sure that it was closed tightly, then sprawled on the bed next to Leliana, quickly falling into shared and increasingly intense kisses with her.

* * *

Teagan was waiting for Elissa the next morning with rather embarrassing news—and a note addressed to her.

“The apostate Jowan fled,” the bann said, looking ashamed. “I do not know how. He never escaped his cell before, when it would have been rational to try to do so, with the undead and demons attacking. But last night, when the guard came to replace his bedding, he must have put a sleep spell on the man while the door was unlocked and escaped. He left this for you. I am so sorry.”

Elissa frowned, not wanting to betray to Teagan that—so long as Jowan did not get involved in any other malevolent schemes—she didn’t much care that he had run away. She took the note and read it.

_Warden Cousland and company,_

_I am very sorry for any trouble this may cause you, and sorry to back out of fighting the Blight with the Circle mages, but I just do not trust the Circle not to make me Tranquil even if you specifically tell them not to do it. I appreciate the second chance that you gave me to make things right at Redcliffe and stop the carnage. I wish Connor well and I’m sure he will become a powerful mage, a better mage than I am. I will see if there are any Blight refugees that I can help, but I intend to leave Ferelden, assume a different name, and never, ever use blood magic again. In this you have my word._

_Best wishes to you,_

_Jowan_

Elissa folded the note and tucked it into her pack, sighing. “What did Arl Eamon think of this? Or does he know yet?”

“He wasn’t pleased,” Teagan admitted, “but there’s nothing we can do about it. He destroyed his phylactery when he escaped the Circle. We have no way to track him, especially if he is going by a different name.”

“Who else knows so far?”

“Eamon himself, and Alistair. You may tell your... lady companion. But we would prefer to keep it hushed up.”

“How? The group heard me offer to take him to the Circle. And when Connor goes to the Circle, he’s bound to say that he had an apostate teacher briefly. Maybe even who it was. You can’t keep children from talking. They just... don’t have the self-discipline.”

“We will say that he was executed attempting to escape. So that the falsehood isn’t ever revealed, Maker grant that he _does_ manage to remain incognito, or at least, that he leaves the name Jowan behind him.”

Elissa thought about the note. “I think he will. I think he wants to put _all_ of this ugliness behind him.”

“Very fortunate for him that he _can._ Many of us cannot.”

“Isn’t that the truth?” she sighed.

* * *

Elissa emerged from the Fade that night, her heart pounding, her stomach roiling. Despite Leliana’s comforting presence right beside her, despite the very pleasant memories that they had made just before they went to sleep, the Archdemon had still seen fit to torment her in the Fade with a vision of itself ordering the darkspawn about. The Blighted creatures had been marching in some abyss—presumably the Deep Roads—growling, spitting, defecating everywhere that they went. Some of them bore weapons and poles with the skulls of their enemies attached. Some of them carried poles with rotting dwarven heads attached. It was a torrent of filth, marching, _marching...._

And then, Maker curse it all, but Elissa was hungry. The foul dream had been disgusting, but it had somehow not destroyed her Warden appetite. She forced herself to focus on Leliana in the moonlight, to cast out the loathsome memories of this dream. Otherwise she was not sure that she could get her food down, even with her hunger.

Sighing, she pulled some nightclothes on and crept out of the room, quietly pulling the door to, and tiptoed down corridors and stairs to the Redcliffe larder.

There was food in plenty, at least, and she knew that she was allowed to help herself. She made a platter of cheese, fruit, buttered bread, and cold meat, pouring herself a cup of wine as well in the hopes that this would send her back to a _calmer_ sleep.

As she was finishing her midnight snack, and finally felt her hunger being quelled, she heard footsteps. They grew louder—and Elissa was not entirely surprised when Alistair rounded the corner, also heading for the kitchen. He chuckled quietly when he saw her.

He emerged with a platter of nothing but cheese, which also didn’t surprise her. Seeing it made her decide that, perhaps, she could top her snack off with another nibble. She went back into the kitchen and returned with an apple.

When they were finally finished eating, Alistair leaned back and sighed. “I had the worst dream.”

“The Archdemon leading darkspawn in the depths?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “You too? Same one?”

“We can’t know for sure, of course, but it sounds like it.”

He shook his head. “It’s mustering its army.”

That, Elissa thought, was obvious. _And we need to muster ours._

“Look,” Alistair said, leaning forward, his face suddenly terribly serious. “I meant to tell you some things about being a Grey Warden, before you went off to search for Andraste’s Ashes.”

“I remember. If you want to now... I guess you might as well. The Blight is deepening. I think the dreams are getting worse.” She shuddered. “That one seemed awfully real. I know it was the Fade, but still... sometimes what we see in the Fade reflects something that really happened.”

Alistair nodded. He looked very sad. “And some Wardens are more sensitive than others... though it probably gets all washed out during a Blight. But ultimately... everyone ends up the same.”

Elissa felt a chill, though she could not explain why. “What do you mean, ‘the same’?”

“Once you reach a certain age, the real nightmares come. That's how a Grey Warden knows his time has come.”

Her eyes widened. “The Joining... kills us? But I thought it made us immune.” _Oh, Leliana,_ she thought, her heart breaking for her new lover.

He shook his head. “It does... for a time. But it is always a death sentence in the end. It becomes too much. It’s said that the Warden starts to hear the song of the Old Gods, like the darkspawn do. When that occurs, it’s known as ‘the Calling.’ Then... they go to Orzammar to die in battle rather than turning into a ghoul. It’s tradition.”

Elissa brought her hand to her open mouth, horrified.

“That’s the other reason why we keep the Joining a secret from new recruits,” he said bitterly. “No one would volunteer if they knew the truth.”

Elissa sank back onto her chair, gazing ahead blankly but not focusing. Just when she thought that her life was starting to have some joy in it—just when she had found someone she really loved, and who loved her back for who she truly was—just when she had had her faith in the Maker restored—and, yes, just when she felt the pleasure of being back in the political game—now this had to happen. “How long do we have?” she croaked, unable to process it.

“It varies. Ten to thirty years... though during a Blight, that can be a lot less. But,” he said quickly, “the Blights all lasted over a decade, some much longer. If we can end this one before it really begins, we might get the full thirty.”

“We end the Blight by slaying the Archdemon.” She knew it, but she wanted him to confirm.

“Yes.”

Elissa was instantly resolved to kill that vile, Tainted dragon that had just tormented her sleep as soon as she possibly could. _This_ Blight was not going to last decades. She would end it quickly and then.... _Thirty years,_ she thought. _I guess that isn’t_ _terrible_ _. That’s longer than I have lived so far._ She took a breath. “That dragon is going to die before the year’s end, if I have anything to say about it,” she vowed.

“That’s the spirit,” he said, laughing feebly.

She heaved a breath. There had to be a solution to this. The original Grey Wardens had _invented_ the Joining formula. If a Grey Warden could be created with this vile magic, there had to be a way to remove this loathsome outcome. _And I have thirty years to figure it out. Or, more likely, to recruit mage Wardens who can figure it out._ “Anything _else_ I should know about?” she said.

He turned red. “Well... I don’t know that it’s an issue for you, since you fancy women... but... um... it’s really hard for Grey Wardens to have children. Their own, I mean. By blood. And practically impossible with each other.”

Alistair was correct that Elissa was not personally troubled by that, but she _was_ disturbed for him—and for Ferelden. As the implications of it hit her in rapid succession, the outrage she’d felt lately toward Eamon, Cailan, and Maric suddenly grew to include Duncan. _He knew that Alistair was the only other Theirin, he knew that this was an effect of the Joining, and he recruited Alistair anyway?_ she thought in indignation. _Maker’s breath,_ _did_ _anyone_ _think of Ferelden_ _?_

“‘Really hard,’ but not impossible if the other partner _isn’t_ a Grey Warden,” Elissa repeated. “That sounds like something that Grey Warden mages could investigate and maybe mitigate. If you do become King, and I become Warden-Commander of Ferelden... if we both survive the Blight... then it’ll _have_ to be looked into.”

He scowled. “Are you arranging some kind of marriage for me now?”

She shook her head. “No, but a monarch must have an heir.” She sighed. “My father was considered for King when Maric was declared dead. I didn’t want him to be chosen, because my brother was married to a foreign lady....” Tears came to her eyes at the memory of Oriana and Oren, and the hope that Fergus was somehow still alive. She swallowed hard. Her voice was husky as she continued. “You know how Fereldans can be about that after the Orlesian Occupation. So if my father had become King, _I_ would have been the heir-presumptive. I didn’t want it. I knew I would have to marry a man so that I could have heirs. It’s necessary, to carry on the tradition of the monarchy.”

Alistair fell silent. “Well... if we survive the Blight, it is something to look into.”

“That and developing a cure for this ‘Calling,’” she said, indignation filling her voice again. “Why do Wardens tolerate that? We’ve been around for over a thousand years. Why not try to find a cure?”

“It’s seen as an honorable death, fighting the darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and the dwarves respect it greatly. Grey Wardens can be very traditional.” He gave her a raised eyebrow. “You were just talking about the traditions of the monarchy.”

“Yes,” she said impatiently, “traditions can provide comfort, stability, and order. But they’re not always good, and there’s no need for _this!_ I’m going to have mages look into the Calling too.”

There was a moment of silence, and then he spoke again. “Duncan was approaching his when he... when he died,” Alistair said quietly. “He was having the really bad nightmares. I think he wanted to be the Warden who killed the Archdemon and ended the Blight, though.”

“I’m sorry that he didn’t get the opportunity, then. It’s tough to see someone you care about not get to fulfill their dream.”

Alistair nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. He blinked and managed to speak again. “Some Grey Warden traditions are good. Equality among elves, dwarves, humans... men and women... rich or poor... even bastards,” he chuckled self-deprecatingly. “And even criminals. Once you become a Warden, what you were before doesn’t matter. Have I ever told you this story Duncan told me about a murderer who was recruited?”

Elissa shook her head, wondering where this was going. Perhaps he just wanted to talk about Duncan. She would indulge it.

“Well, it was something that his Warden-Commander, Genevieve, did. A bandit had killed a Grey Warden. A common criminal, a murderer—and the chevaliers had arrested him. So what do you think the Warden-Commander did?”

“You just told me,” Elissa said, smiling.

“Oh, right. Yes. She went to them and conscripted the man into the order to replace the Warden that he had killed. One of her own men, and she conscripted his murderer in his place to serve rather than letting him hang. She saw that the man had abilities that could help the Wardens and didn’t want to waste his life. Isn’t that something?”

Elissa sat back, trying not to stare at him. It was blindingly obvious to her that Duncan himself had been the murderer, and she wondered at the fact that it hadn’t occurred to Alistair. _He has such a lofty and exalted ideal of Duncan that he couldn’t consider the possibility,_ she thought. _But it’s very obvious._ _Well, Duncan would hardly have been the first to reform and become a different person after taking on a solemn responsibility._

“The Wardens certainly exhibit more respect for the common... well, not _humanity,_ but the fact that we are all children of the Maker or the Stone, than any other organization,” she managed. “Now we just need to ensure that the Wardens themselves have a fair chance at life.”

“I’ll drink to that.” And he did at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elissa’s current take on the Rebellion at Soldier’s Peak is accepted history now. I think the surviving members of the rebellious noble families, including the Couslands, would have readily gone along with blaming it all on the Grey Wardens. And yes, she’s a monarchist. I can see characters from privileged backgrounds developing liberal views about mages, elves, sexual minorities, etc., but it’s a real stretch to give her modern-world _political_ views. I’m also interested in the concept of [the three sources of political authority (Max Weber): tradition/monarchy, the rule of law, and the charismatic leader](https://open.lib.umn.edu/sociology/chapter/14-1-power-and-authority/). As much as I hate to admit it, my AU Caitlyn Hawke is unquestionably the “charismatic leader”... and a budding autocrat, as that so often becomes. With this story, in the political parts, I’m hoping to explore something that’s a cross between rule of law and tradition. Ferelden _is_ what amounts to a constitutional monarchy, after all, and it’s more stable than Kirkwall—the latter being the type of environment that makes it easy for “charismatic leaders” to take power. Of course, Loghain got awfully close to that in the chaos. ...Like I said, I can really geek out about this if allowed!
> 
> I made an extremely light edit to _Spells of Power_. (Readers of that fic: It was several months ago, after I outlined exactly what became of Jowan here.) I had written Anders guessing that Jowan was still imprisoned at Redcliffe but not really knowing. It was only one sentence, but people might have remembered it. I could’ve kept it, since it was just one character’s guess, but I couldn’t devise a sequence of events that would cause him to believe that. After this fiasco, I do think everyone would just want to hush it all up. And yeah, I think Jowan would be made Tranquil at the Circle, and I can’t do that. Maybe he will Join the Wardens of Orlais or elsewhere as Levyn, the name he assumes if you just let him go, but my existing “canon” from _Spells of Power_ precludes him from Joining in Ferelden.
> 
> I don’t think Cailan left a will, or if he did, it stated no preferred successor. (The Landsmeet would still have to approve it, but I’m sure a monarch could express a preference in legal documents.) Even Loghain’s side was setting up Cailan as a martyr, so “what Cailan wanted as expressed in his will” would have been a powerful argument for whoever could have used it.
> 
> The next chapter will be _much_ more Elissa/Leliana-centric. They’re going to Denerim!


End file.
